Fic: Shadows I - Nightwing/Deathstroke
Jun. 21st, 2009 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
suki_blueTitle: Shadows I
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
suki_blue
Rating: NC-17 for smut, language and violence.
Summary: He'd been watching Dick for a while and it finally paid off.
Warnings Almost semi non-con. Quarter non-con? One fifth? Little bit of sexual violence.
A/N: This the start of a series of ficlets. There is not enough Dick/Slade in the world. I shall change that.
Beta'd byamejisuto
Also posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
we_love_dick and batfic.
Slade was surprised he hadn’t seen them sooner. Scratch that. He was annoyed he hadn’t seen them sooner. He was slipping.
Two hundred yards away, on top of the neighbouring building, Nightwing hunkered down, leg muscles taut, and raised a miniscule pair of binoculars to his eyes. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze.
No, Slade thought, not slipping. Distracted. Preoccupied by the crouching body on the opposite rooftop and withdrawn from his other surroundings by the memory of two nights ago. Slade smiled beneath his hood and took an extra moment to remember the strength in those legs. He stretched where he stood on top of the department store and felt his back crack slightly in appreciation.
‘Nightwing!’ he called, and his back and blue bird stood and turned sharply. Slade slowly waggled his index finger like a metronome.
Nightwing frowned and Slade imagined a dozen confused thought bubbles appearing and disappearing over Nightwing’s head.
‘Look up, Dick.’
Nightwing bared his teeth at the blatant use of his name, but indulged Slade anyway and looked up at the clear navy-coloured sky. Shit, he mouthed, and Slade crossed his arms and watched the three small black hang gliders swoop over Nightwing’s roof. Time for a show.
The first man dropped to Nightwing’s left, his glider continuing on without him. The second dropped to Nightwing’s right and the last landed directly in front, blocking Slade’s view. Slade stepped to the left and watched the fight begin.
They struck one at a time, a rookie tactic that had all three reeling and then circling like wolves around an eagle. Nightwing stood between them. Still. Solid. Waiting. The three closed in and Nightwing struck with his foot, the heel of his palm and the sharp point of his elbow. Slade resisted touching where that same elbow had jabbed two nights ago. It hadn’t hurt him, not in the slightest, but along with a twist and an acrobatic hop, it had succeeded in loosening his hold on Nightwing’s neck.
One of the attackers lunged with a blade, seven inches of gleaming steel, and, for a split second, Slade held his breath. The knife sliced through Nightwing’s suit and revealed skin and a dribble of blood. Nightwing looked pissed. As well he should. Kevlar wasn’t what it once was. Or maybe there was more to that blade than meets the eye.
‘That’s three suits this week. Damn ninjas. I’m definitely recommending a villain tax. I’ll be happy to collect.’ Then Nightwing was in the air, tumbling, leaping, kicking.
It was better than the dirtiest porn and Slade felt the beginnings of sweat beading at his forehead.
Nightwing’s skin, slicked and burning hot, moving beneath him. A gasping breath and arching back. Teeth splitting flesh.
A gleeful laugh rolled over the rooftop towards Slade and he blinked and smiled at the pile of unconscious bodies.
‘Wouldn’t have killed you to lend a hand, you know,’ Nightwing called. ‘Or has all the lurking turned you lazy?’
Slade didn’t answer, but he ran for the edge of the roof and leapt across the wide gap.
Nightwing raised an eyebrow. ‘Ten for achievement, but I’m gonna have to go with a four for style.’
He tensed as Slade neared, and Slade remembered him breathless and shirtless, pressed against the inside of his apartment door, muscles tight beneath his gripping fingers.
‘I don’t want this,’ Nightwing blurted, his words cutting through the now silent air.
Slade stopped, three feet away, and he studied Nightwing’s features. He was so open when he was confused, so readable when he was unsure.
‘You do.’
‘No.’
‘I’ve got bruises that say different.’ He sealed the gap between them with one slow step, slid his hand over Nightwing’s jaw and neck and leaned close. ‘So do you,’ he whispered.
He pressed closer, felt Nightwing’s body shiver and press back.
Clenching teeth, crying out, long legs wrapping vice-like around his hips. Begging.
‘Please.’ Nightwing’s voice was less than a murmur, only slightly more than a wisp of sound. ‘Not here.’
Slade tilted his head, held Nightwing’s still and tight with both hands, and kissed his cheek, lips to damp skin with the material of his hood separating them.
So tight, thrusting into him, Nightwing twisting, mouth opening, a kiss just as penetrating.
‘Then I’ll drop by later.’
‘I won’t be there.’
His hands slid to Nightwing’s shoulders, slipped down his arms with a gentle touch that contradicted his urges. He allowed himself to sway back just a fraction to give Nightwing the illusion he was free. ‘I predict ... you’ll be there.’
‘You don’t know me.’
‘Yes, Dick, I do.’ He felt Nightwing press back, minutely, unconsciously. ‘You forget how long I’ve known you. You forget how long I’ve watched you. You forget how long you’ve watched me.’
Eyes wide, searching. Breath laboured, struggling. His hand on Nightwing’s throat, squeezing. And then they’re both coming, Nightwing’s hand grasping Slade’s wrist, holding on, riding it out, grinning like he’s just won the lotto twice in a row.
‘I’ll be back for you, Dickie Bird.’
Nightwing said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His eyes were closed and he tipped his head back when Slade touched his throat. An invitation.
‘You’ll be the death of me.’
‘Maybe.’ Slade grabbed him then, held him in a grip tight enough to make most men scream. ‘But I think you’ll risk it.’
And that was how it started.
***
Fandom: DC Comics
Pairing: Nightwing/Deathstroke
Author:
suki_blueRating: NC-17 for smut, language and violence.
Summary: He'd been watching Dick for a while and it finally paid off.
Warnings Almost semi non-con. Quarter non-con? One fifth? Little bit of sexual violence.
A/N: This the start of a series of ficlets. There is not enough Dick/Slade in the world. I shall change that.
Beta'd by
amejisutoAlso posted to
we_love_dick and batfic.Slade was surprised he hadn’t seen them sooner. Scratch that. He was annoyed he hadn’t seen them sooner. He was slipping.
Two hundred yards away, on top of the neighbouring building, Nightwing hunkered down, leg muscles taut, and raised a miniscule pair of binoculars to his eyes. His dark hair ruffled in the breeze.
No, Slade thought, not slipping. Distracted. Preoccupied by the crouching body on the opposite rooftop and withdrawn from his other surroundings by the memory of two nights ago. Slade smiled beneath his hood and took an extra moment to remember the strength in those legs. He stretched where he stood on top of the department store and felt his back crack slightly in appreciation.
‘Nightwing!’ he called, and his back and blue bird stood and turned sharply. Slade slowly waggled his index finger like a metronome.
Nightwing frowned and Slade imagined a dozen confused thought bubbles appearing and disappearing over Nightwing’s head.
‘Look up, Dick.’
Nightwing bared his teeth at the blatant use of his name, but indulged Slade anyway and looked up at the clear navy-coloured sky. Shit, he mouthed, and Slade crossed his arms and watched the three small black hang gliders swoop over Nightwing’s roof. Time for a show.
The first man dropped to Nightwing’s left, his glider continuing on without him. The second dropped to Nightwing’s right and the last landed directly in front, blocking Slade’s view. Slade stepped to the left and watched the fight begin.
They struck one at a time, a rookie tactic that had all three reeling and then circling like wolves around an eagle. Nightwing stood between them. Still. Solid. Waiting. The three closed in and Nightwing struck with his foot, the heel of his palm and the sharp point of his elbow. Slade resisted touching where that same elbow had jabbed two nights ago. It hadn’t hurt him, not in the slightest, but along with a twist and an acrobatic hop, it had succeeded in loosening his hold on Nightwing’s neck.
One of the attackers lunged with a blade, seven inches of gleaming steel, and, for a split second, Slade held his breath. The knife sliced through Nightwing’s suit and revealed skin and a dribble of blood. Nightwing looked pissed. As well he should. Kevlar wasn’t what it once was. Or maybe there was more to that blade than meets the eye.
‘That’s three suits this week. Damn ninjas. I’m definitely recommending a villain tax. I’ll be happy to collect.’ Then Nightwing was in the air, tumbling, leaping, kicking.
It was better than the dirtiest porn and Slade felt the beginnings of sweat beading at his forehead.
Nightwing’s skin, slicked and burning hot, moving beneath him. A gasping breath and arching back. Teeth splitting flesh.
A gleeful laugh rolled over the rooftop towards Slade and he blinked and smiled at the pile of unconscious bodies.
‘Wouldn’t have killed you to lend a hand, you know,’ Nightwing called. ‘Or has all the lurking turned you lazy?’
Slade didn’t answer, but he ran for the edge of the roof and leapt across the wide gap.
Nightwing raised an eyebrow. ‘Ten for achievement, but I’m gonna have to go with a four for style.’
He tensed as Slade neared, and Slade remembered him breathless and shirtless, pressed against the inside of his apartment door, muscles tight beneath his gripping fingers.
‘I don’t want this,’ Nightwing blurted, his words cutting through the now silent air.
Slade stopped, three feet away, and he studied Nightwing’s features. He was so open when he was confused, so readable when he was unsure.
‘You do.’
‘No.’
‘I’ve got bruises that say different.’ He sealed the gap between them with one slow step, slid his hand over Nightwing’s jaw and neck and leaned close. ‘So do you,’ he whispered.
He pressed closer, felt Nightwing’s body shiver and press back.
Clenching teeth, crying out, long legs wrapping vice-like around his hips. Begging.
‘Please.’ Nightwing’s voice was less than a murmur, only slightly more than a wisp of sound. ‘Not here.’
Slade tilted his head, held Nightwing’s still and tight with both hands, and kissed his cheek, lips to damp skin with the material of his hood separating them.
So tight, thrusting into him, Nightwing twisting, mouth opening, a kiss just as penetrating.
‘Then I’ll drop by later.’
‘I won’t be there.’
His hands slid to Nightwing’s shoulders, slipped down his arms with a gentle touch that contradicted his urges. He allowed himself to sway back just a fraction to give Nightwing the illusion he was free. ‘I predict ... you’ll be there.’
‘You don’t know me.’
‘Yes, Dick, I do.’ He felt Nightwing press back, minutely, unconsciously. ‘You forget how long I’ve known you. You forget how long I’ve watched you. You forget how long you’ve watched me.’
Eyes wide, searching. Breath laboured, struggling. His hand on Nightwing’s throat, squeezing. And then they’re both coming, Nightwing’s hand grasping Slade’s wrist, holding on, riding it out, grinning like he’s just won the lotto twice in a row.
‘I’ll be back for you, Dickie Bird.’
Nightwing said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His eyes were closed and he tipped his head back when Slade touched his throat. An invitation.
‘You’ll be the death of me.’
‘Maybe.’ Slade grabbed him then, held him in a grip tight enough to make most men scream. ‘But I think you’ll risk it.’
And that was how it started.
***
