Quick note: this story borrows directly from Nightwing #80 as well as a tini-tiny little bit from Teen Titans #77. Some of the dialogue and circumstances are not my own, I'm just borrowing them for a bit and then adding sex. Lots of sex. I kept most everything the same as far as story-line, but I played with the timelines a bit. Those who are only familiar with characters from the show might be going, "… what?"

Happy Birthday to Miss Kay! In honor of this auspicious event, I wrote you 21 pages of smut and cupcakes. Well, really only one cupcake. And it was only a metaphor. Oh, and the chapter is a few weeks late… And not even given to you in the right year… Shit, I'm bad at this.

Well, without further kuro-do, please enjoy: Kay-Day

Officer Grayson was usually a fairly serious young man. On the verge of twenty years, he was still by far the youngest officer on the force- and also the cleanest when it came to reputation. He was supposed to be a rich little brat, easily persuaded by threats and money, but unfortunately for most of the squad, he wasn't. He was not well received at first, but that didn't take long to change when those who really wanted him gone had landed themselves in jail, each with their own personal laundry list of charges. Dick Grayson couldn't be bought, he wouldn't be threatened, and somehow, no one had managed to have him killed properly.

That was the past, though, at least mostly. The Blϋdhaven police department was finally shaping up and actually accomplishing things. They were even starting to gain a little trust and respect in the city and within the nation. Grayson liked that very much and allowed himself an almost giddy smile as he pulled off his uniform and tossed it into the dirty clothes bin that belonged to the precinct. He would probably be the one to clean them later, but he wanted to hurry home and change into his real uniform.

It had been a good and extremely productive day, as well as evening. Nightwing was hoping that the night and early morning would be just as rewarding. Tomorrow was his day off, so there wasn't any reason to hold back just to sleep. He was going to cut loose and have some real fun.

Once dressed in street clothes, a simple blue t-shirt and leather jacket over a pair of decent looking jeans, Dick closed his locker and headed out into the busy station. He waved goodnight to his co-workers and a few of the federal agents that hadn't left yet. They were celebrating the end of a very successful sting-operation, laughing and joking with one another. It was the first high-profile arrest that didn't result in an officer behind bars, but it would not be the last if Grayson had anything to say about it.

Everyone was thrilled with the success. Well, almost everyone. Dick turned his head towards the holding cell and nodded cordially to the man behind bars. The newest prisoner of the Blϋdhaven police station wasn't happy, or at least he really didn't look that way.

It was shaping up to be a great night. Dick hummed as he swung a leg over his motorcycle and sped off towards his apartment. It was a bit of bad form on his part, because he knew where all the officers were patrolling and exactly where upon his path they might be waiting to catch a speeder. Plus, he knew that even if he was pulled over, no one was going to give him a ticket that night. He tried to tell himself to slow down, but the wind whipping around his body was too invigorating, too welcomed after his day. He felt more alive than when he landed his first corrupt-cop arrest.

He reached his apartment in record time, parking in the secured garage before pulling off his helmet and giving a charged sigh. He moved towards his apartment quickly, taking the stairs because the elevator took too damn long.

Instinct is a funny thing. One moment Dick was on top of the world, the next, the hairs on the back of his head were standing on end. Somehow, he knew that opening his apartment door would bring misfortune, that something was waiting for him. It was all so routine. He turned the key and pushed on the wood, stepping inside with ever tightening muscles. He knew something was wrong, even if he didn't fully recognize it in his mind, his body knew it well.

"Nightwing," a man in a familiar uniform was sitting on his couch, reading his paper, feet propped up on his coffee table.

The teen's body was tense, standing in a defensive position that he immediately made himself relinquish. He walked further into his apartment, "What are you doing here, Slade?"

The man in question stood to his feet, "I hear this is your beat now. All grown up and out from the shadow of The Bat, eh?" Slade was smirking under his mask, Dick could tell without even looking. "Good for you."

The hero just shrugged and moved toward his closet. The fact that Deathstroke was visiting made no difference. His uniform was waiting.

"Look, I know you follow a code. And I respect you," Slade drawled, moving closer to the teen with the presumptuous familiarity that had grown between them. There was a tension that had grown as well, an almost primal sense of… well, Slade could never label it. "You're pretty impressive for someone without super-powers, and I… appreciate what you tried to do for my boy." Dick glanced back at the man, who paused before starting to speak smoothly once more. "Anyway, not why I'm here. I've got a contract in Blϋdhaven. Figured I'd do the right thing and let you know that I'm in town."

Dick, who was in the process of shrugging off his leather jacket, turned back to the assassin with a stern look. "Who? Who are you supposed to kill?"

Nightwing removed his blue shirt and tossed it to the floor. Slade turned away and wandered to the window, making Dick smirk at what could have been some bizarre form of modesty. Slade had seen gorgeous half-naked men before, plenty of times, probably. Yet he turned away when Dick undressed. Why? Respect? Arrogance? The teen mused and began to pull on his uniform top, a black cloth with blue markings, perhaps a tribute to the teen's own style or a bit of arrogance on the young man's part. Blue on black was always a powerful and flattering feature, especially pretty blue eyes paired with thick black hair.

"I'm not that honorable, kid," Slade chuckled but his eye turned deadly. "Now what do I have to do to keep you from interfering?"

"Kill me," Dick offered, pulling his shirt down and getting to work on his jeans.

"Yeah." Slade said, listening to the sound of the hero undoing his pants. "Thought you'd say that."

Dick knew in an instant what would happen next, experience taught him well enough not to flinch as the barrel of a black pistol was aimed right between his eyes. The hand that was on his fly abandoned the task and then rested resolutely on his hip as he gave Slade a look that bordered on annoyed, but landed more certainly on ironic. "Put that away, you're not going to kill me."

"No?" The villain replied darkly, his aim unwavering. "I take my contracts as seriously as you take your code."

"We are none of us our own masters," Dick smirked, looking out the window at Blϋdhaven while he repeated the words of a shaman priestess that he had met years ago. He was a different person then, still just a boy… He certainly wasn't that any longer. The smirk darkened as his blue eyes meandered back to the gun and he stepped closer to Deathstroke. His movements were plain and easily followed, which made them a direct challenge against the supposed threat of a gun in his face. "Look at us, both bound by things we think we have controlled."

"Oh?" Slade cocked a brow under his mask, the gun aiming now at the teen's nose.

"Oh," Dick repeated with affirmation in his voice and eyes that nearly glittered with intent. "Your contracts, my code… We could break them if we wanted… But we don't, and that's what keeps us here. That's what really binds us. We are bound by our own wants and wishes… Now as much as ever."

Deathstroke gave an impressed glare as Nightwing squared against the gun, which was now aimed steadily at that cocky little mouth, waiting for the right excuse to blow it away. Dick knew better. That excuse would never come.

"Even now… bound by your instincts…" Dick whispered in a low and sexy voice, face tilted down just enough to watch Slade through his eyelashes. "What are those hunter's instincts telling you to do? Kill me?" Nightwing's lips pressed against the barrel, taunting the villain with what almost looked like an erotic gesture, but Slade dismissed it as a provocation and tried to leave it at that. "Scare me into a chase you don't intend to take?" the hero parted his lips slightly, letting his eyelids flutter just enough to get the man's blood boiling. "Take me-"

"It's loaded," he said, glancing at the gun for just a moment and making Dick chuckle at the unintentional double-entendre.

"Of course it is. You're Deathstroke." The blue eyes stared keenly into the single eye. "But you won't kill me."

"I will if you get in the way."

"No, you won't. You would have done it long ago if you had it in you." Nightwing took a gamble with those words, which were more of a dare than a point to be made, and they made Slade's eye narrow in response. "When it comes to hunting, Slade, you're the best. If I was going to be the prey, you'd have already killed me."

"You think you know me so well, Grayson?" Slade growled, keeping a mental note of the pressure his finger put on the trigger.

"Of course I do. You may be the best, but you're not the only hunter here." The teen pushed Slade's gun to the side with the back of his hand, gently and without resistance from the villain. His smirk met with Slade's eye and turned wider. "Tell me, Deathstroke, how long has it been since you last felt another person's body wrapped around yours?"

Slade took a step back, the gun pointed between the pair of blue eyes. "I fail to see how that's any of your business."

"I suppose it's not the best question to ask." Dick nodded, "I'll do you one better… When was the last time you fucked someone that actually meant something to you?"

"Tread lightly, bird boy, I'm losing patience." The warning was stern but Dick knew that meant he'd hit the right nerves.

"Adeline, right?" the younger smirked with a cruel expression. "The last person you couldn't bear to lose… the last person you couldn't kill…"

The sound of the gunshot bounced off the apartment walls and pieces of a glass frame scattered on the floor. Dick opened his eyes, unsure of when he'd closed them, and glanced back at the bullet-hole through the picture of his parents. Tit for tat.

He turned back to glare at Slade, his left ear ringing with a painful echo of the gun firing so close to his ear. "That was low," he muttered, "even for you."

"Likewise," Slade replied, pushing the gun against the teen's temporal because he had come too close to point it at his face.

"But you know I'm right," Dick spoke, inching closer and pressing his body against Slade's.

It took a moment for the villain to understand just what was pressing hard against his thigh, though he should have guessed from the lust in the blue eyes. It had taken him far longer than he liked to understand the meaning behind the teen's movements, which, although not entirely unexpected, were drowned out by the memories of tension that always surrounded them. Mental, physical, sexual… There was always tension there, dangling by a thread in each of their minds, tight and begging to snap… maybe it had.

"You couldn't let her go," Dick said, his voice somewhere just above a whisper but below his normal volume. "Not when she tried to shoot you. Not when she set you up against your own son. Not when she dyin' cried to be released from that soon-to-be shell of a body..."

Nightwing smirked as Slade grabbed a fistful of his dark hair and wrenched his head back painfully. It wasn't the gun pressed under his chin that made Dick's heart race, it was the look in Deathstroke's eye. It was angry, murderous, and very pained. Dick had seen the hurt in that eye before, but never so close and certainly never so personally.

"And it's the same with me…" He breathed, never looking quite so haughty as he did just then.

Slade gave a low rumble that could have been a growl or a laugh, not even Dick could tell the difference. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that. But you're damn wrong."

"I didn't say that you were in love with me," Dick snorted, reading Slade's mind with the sort of perfection that only obsession could deliver. "I know you, Slade Wilson. Well enough to predict your ambitions almost as well as you can predict my next move." His smile softened as he tilted his head to the side just slightly, offering his neck in a contrived sort of submission that didn't fool Deathstroke for a moment. "And I know that you won't kill me."

At that moment, Dick's next move became perfectly clear as one hand slid behind Slade's armor, drifting until his fingers bumped against the stock of Slade's penis. He wasn't hard, at least not entirely, but the man was holding his breath, a sign that his current situation was the result of self control, not indifference.

"And what makes you think…" Slade began, moving the gun back against his temporal and pushing it hard against the skin, making the teen's head tilt further to the side. The blue eyes seemed to grow brighter, narrowing just slightly in a little hint of boldness that made a disciplinary streak flare up inside the villain. "That just because I don't want to kill you means that I also want to fuck you?"

"That's actually something I'm not sure on," Dick admitted while his hand curled around the man's shaft and squeezed just softly. "Why else would I be testing you?"

"Testing me?" Slade chuckled, his eye curving with his smile. "Isn't that the role reversal of the century?"

"Not really," Nightwing's free hand moved behind Slade's head, skillfully undoing the knot that held his mask tight against his skull. "You may be the world's best assassin, but when it comes to this…" Dick pulled away Deathstroke's mask, finding that the smile he expected was there, only it looked more fragile than what he supposed it would. "… You're just like any other man." The hero moved his lips upward, teasing them against Slade's as he whispered, "And you can't escape the bonds of those compulsions, either. Not any more than you can the bonds of your own contracts."

Slade's mouth opened over Nightwing's, allowing the warm tongue to push inside and initiate a surprisingly foolhardy kiss. He tasted exactly as Slade thought he would; sweet and full with those little hints of spice, just like a carnival treat. He could feel Dick smile against him as they kissed and Deathstroke couldn't help but smile back. He might not have taught the boy that particular skill, but he didn't get that kind of boldness from Batman.

The hero smiled against the man's lips; he knew Slade wanted it, every bit as much as he did, the smile that was returned on his lips only proved it. Dick's smile grew wider; the bastard was probably taking credit for the kiss and the smile at that very moment. Typical. He smelled nice, though… like musky aftershave that must sting against the skin. It was pleasant, warm, and spicy, the kind of smell that could drive any hot-blooded human up the wall, or against it, if Nightwing had any say.

He wound his arms around Deathstroke's neck, letting his fingers dig into the blended material as he pulled himself up just enough to pretend the height difference wasn't that extreme. When the kiss deepened further, Slade let a out a hungry sound that went straight to Nightwing's groin, which was already hard and weeping against his underwear. Deathstroke must have put away the gun because his hand was soon cupping Dick's ass, pushing their bodies harder against each other until the hero was able to wrap his leg around the villain's massive trunk, grinding slowly against him. The teen let out a helpless little keening sound because he knew it would drive the hunter wild; he was right, of course, Slade responded with a growl and moved the kiss downward, sliding his tongue over the teen's neck before his teeth joined in the fun, nipping at the skin. Dick responded with a nip of his own, gently tugging at the man's ear before whispering in the best and most wispy sex voice he could manage.

"Let's take the night off… A few hours, at least." His hands groomed down Slade's back, letting his fingers dig into all the right places. "I think you need this just as much as I want it."

"And if I refuse?" Deathstroke asked, squeezing harder on his handful of ass.

Dick chuckled through his nose and gave a quirky smile against the man's jaw. "You won't," he whispered in a throaty tone. "You could… but you won't."

In very little time, Slade found himself back on teen's couch, naked save for his eye patch and a single rubber sheath the teen had insisted on, despite the knowledge that Slade couldn't possibly catch or carry a disease. Dick had called it a habit that he liked to keep, making Slade wonder how many times he'd had done something like this before, and with who. It also made him wonder very quietly if any of those previous adventures had meant something… or if this one did as well. They weren't really things Slade wanted to think about, because (as he reminded himself several times) they weren't really things he actually cared about.

He'd been with more than a few women in his day, but never with a man, and especially not with a man who knew him like Dick Grayson did. He felt a little like a virgin, timid and a little unsure and very aware that his partner knew the ropes when he didn't. Slade didn't like the feeling, although one look at him and you would never know it. He looked calm as ever, and even managed a small smirk. The lack of smugness in Dick's face told him that he either couldn't recognize the uncertainty or the teen was too hot and bothered to care anymore.

"Have you bottomed before?" Slade asked casually as Dick spread more lube over the surface of the condom. The teen looked at him with the kind of eyes that told him what a stupid question that was, so Slade turned his attention to the condom instead. It fit him snugly, as it had clearly been made to fit someone of Nightwing's length and girth, but the teen had lined it with enough lube that it went on easily enough and didn't show signs of strain.

Lips that covered his mouth quickly ripped his attention from his own body and focused it on the taste of Dick's kiss washing over his tongue. He closed his eye, trying at first to remember if Adeline's kisses felt quite so right and so needed. Knees dented the cushion on either side of Slade's body, forcing the steely eye open where it met one of Dick's blue.

The teen pulled back just a bit, giving himself room to adjust his body until the head of Slade's cock was flush against his entrance. A large, rough hand landed on his hip and Dick knew that Deathstroke, despite his amazing brain, was having difficulty processing the situation. He smirked. Slade rarely gave him the chance to think things through, he would be damned if he extended that courtesy.

Slade let out a groan of pleasure as Nightwing's body sank around his cock, warm and tight and slicked with lube. He tried to think of Adeline again, but the thought evaporated when Slade glanced at Dick's face, lips parted in a silent breath that seemed to be caught in his throat, those pretty blue eyes looking up at the ceiling as if the very feeling of their union was a religious experience. He'd seen that face on many lovers, but he could not recall it ever looking so appealing.

"Bigger than I thought," Dick murmured, licking his lips and pushing his body down a bit more before glancing back at Slade and giving him a heated smile. He rolled his hips once, watching the mercenary's expression change from surprise to pure lust.

It felt as if a memory long since gone had returned, and suddenly everything was just a little clearer to the villain. The heat, power, and the sex… those things together meant something more. Not love, but something deep and almost cutting. He knew the feeling. It was a bond. Something that broke through the loneliness, if only for a fleeting moment.

"Oh, god…" Dick moaned, rocking back and forth against the man, and smearing precome across his abdomen as he did. He moved his hands over Slade's shoulders, pushing up against them to help coordinate his movements.

Slade moved his hands up Nightwing's body, testing the curves and tone of his muscles. Out of pure habit, his hands moved to the teen's chest, smoothing over the muscles and unknowingly arching a brow at the lack of fullness. That was certainly something he wasn't used to. He mentally murmured something about old dogs learning new tricks and quickly removed his hands, hoping that Dick hadn't noticed or taken offence to the very heterosexual move. Was that a faux pas among gay sex? He wondered but the answer came when Dick spoke.

"No, don't stop…" the hero commanded, grabbing Slade's wrists and guiding them back to his chest. "Touch me."

Deathstroke's eye glanced between his hands and Nightwing's face, which had an awfully demanding expression despite how erotic it looked. Perhaps it was the expectation that made it so attractive. Dick demanded it because he knew that Slade could give it to him. The feeling of uncertainty disappeared. Slade grasped harder at the teen's chest, wrapping his fingers part way around the side while his rough thumbs went to work on the nipples. That seemed to do the trick, judging by Dick's hard moans and arching back. Slade took it one step further, leaning in and licking one of the hardened buds before cautiously taking it between his teeth.

Dick's hands had fallen from Deathstrokes shoulders to his biceps, which he was now gripping tightly as he moved his hips slowly.

"Let me…" Dick whispered, pushing Slade back against the couch so that he could have access to the now smirking mouth of the villain. They kissed briefly, tongues meeting and moving as one as they both let out satisfied sounds. "Fuck…" Dick whispered in a laugh before wrapping his arms behind Slade's head, lifting his back end to that the villain's hard length nearly slipped out. "Do you have any idea how much I've wanted this?"

"I think I have a very vague idea, yes" Slade replied, placing his hands on the teen's ass but letting Dick's body do most of the moving. The teen had taken to short, very shallow drops of his hips, which pushed Slade's cock only a few inches into his body but rubbed very nicely against his prostate.

They moved like that for a few minutes, Slade listening to the sound of Dick's heavy but controlled breathing while the teen took advantage of their position and kissed the man's neck, feeling the thick muscles and tendons just under the skin. It wasn't too long, however, before Dick's lips wandered back to Slade's, opening with a smile and letting his tongue play against the man's while he dropped his hips back over Slade's cock, squeezing his muscles around the shaft and smiling at the sound of Slade's groan and the way that his hands gripped harder on his ass.

"Tell me kid," Slade said with a smirk that Dick returned. "Just how flexible are you?"

The teen's smirk widened and he arched a brow. "It would blow your mind."

"Not really my mind that I want blown," Slade's mouth turned almost cruel as he grabbed Nightwing's body and lifted it off his penis, much to the disappointment of the teen, who let out a whimper. Dick soon found himself in a very awkward position, shoulder's pressed hard against the arm of his sofa while Slade seemed determined to fold him in half. It wasn't long at all before Dick finally understood what the man was playing at.

"I assume you're familiar with autofellatio," Slade mused as the tip of the teen's own cock rubbed against his chin.

"I usually don't need it," Dick informed him; although, truth be told, he was particularly skilled at that strange talent. The body of an acrobat came with many advantages, but the ability to suck yourself off was a rare gift, even with incredible flexibility. He'd mastered the deed soon after puberty, where he had grown enough to actually reach the more sensitive areas. How he ever found the time to accomplish anything during those first few months was beyond him.

"It turns me on," Slade let him know as he moved his thumbs in circles, gently messaging the teen's opening and looking into his blue eyes with an expression that told him that it would be pointless to argue.

Dick rolled his eyes just slightly and slipped his tongue between his teeth, extending it just enough to push against the slit of his cock, licking away the musky white liquid before he bent his neck further in, pushing his lips over the head and sucking with a moan.

Slade gave the view an appreciative nod, leaning further over the teen and very carefully sliding inside him once again. Dick let out a slow moan, swirling his tongue around his tip as his eyes locked onto Slade, teasing and daring from the distance.

Slade was cautious not to push too hard, the angle looked painful as it was, and the teen would probably be sore enough in the morning anyway. He hardly felt the need to add whiplash to the list of things to worry about. Instead, he mimicked the earlier movements, giving the teen slow and shallow thrusts that brushed against his prostate but didn't dip much further in. Occasionally, though, he would push his full length inside, watching as the force behind his movements shoved more of the teen's length into his mouth. Dick couldn't reach more than a third of his length, but with each push he let out a moan and sucked, tasting more of himself as he felt his orgasm building.

The look in the blue eyes and the blush on his cheeks told Slade that Nightwing was close. He smirked and reached between their bodies, fondling Dick's sack and rubbing hard at the base of his cock. The hero whimpered at the touch, opening his mouth to moan before Slade pushed harder against him, forcing his penis deeper inside. Dick glared slightly but Slade only chuckled.

"You're going to swallow it," Slade informed him, wrapping his thumb and finger around the base and stroking quickly. "All of it."

A few more strokes later, Slade got his wish.

The villain enjoyed the teen's body as it convulsed around his erection. He could feel Dick's penis twitching in his hand as he came into his own mouth, swallowing hard as the cum sprayed over his tongue and into his throat. It was a pretty sight to see, one that the villain never would have guessed that he'd see firsthand. He couldn't remember if he'd ever seriously considered what the teen must look like in the heat of orgasm, but he was certain that he would never forget it.

It was only when Dick softened that Slade finally pulled back, giving the teen room to stretch out and breathe. Instead of relaxing, however, the hero pushed himself off the cushion, straddled the man's body and pushed his lips squarely against Slade's.

"Did you like that?" Dick asked between kisses. "Watching me suck myself dry while you fucked me?" It was apparently a rhetorical question because Nightwing's tongue prevented the villain from producing any sort of comprehensible response. Meanwhile, the teen was rather furiously grinding himself up and around Slade's cock, burying himself over the shaft in quick but fluid movements. It was only about a minute before Slade could feel the teen's cock rubbing against his abdomen once again, just as hard as before. Ah, to be young.

"Want more?" Slade purred, his hands raking over the hero's back and earning a shiver from the young man. "Because I haven't even started yet."

Dick let out another little shiver and bit the villain's lower lip. "Give me everything you've got."

"Famous last words," Slade chuckled, wrapping his big hands around the other's waist and thrusting into him.

Those probably were someone's famous last words. Deathstroke would know, wouldn't he? Dick tried to laugh, but it only came out as a moan as the hard cock slid in and out of his body, picking up in speed but also in force. The villain's rough hands digging into his hips made him even harder, flooding his mind with memories and thoughts that were quickly drowned out when Nightwing made eye contact with the man's eye. The slate-color was filled almost entirely with lust; it was hungry and feral with only little hints of restraint that neither would likely miss if it were to disappear.

"Aaah, Slade!" the teen moaned, trying to hook his legs around the man's trunk but finding that the back-rest of the couch was in the way. It was of little consequence at that point, however, because the large hands clamped down on his hips, pushing Nightwing as close to the cock's base as he could, filling him to the absolute brim. The teen arched his back and let out a long moan as he felt Slade's penis twitching hard inside his body. The satisfied grunt and the few shallow thrusts made it perfectly clear that the villain was about to come.

The man grunted out a low swear as he arched his back off the couch and forced the hero's body down on his erection, burying himself to as he felt his release escaping in hard waves that almost hurt to lose. How long had it been? The teen dipped his head back, moaning as the liquid sprayed against the condom, filling the tip and starting to leak down the sides. Slade couldn't help but admire the view as he came down from his climax, dragging the teen with him and leaving them both hot and shuddering as he lifted the teen off his body and set him on the couch.

Dick wondered lightly what would happen next. Would Slade leave? Stay to finish him off? Stay for another round?

"Turn over," Slade commanded, supplying a nice little answer. Dick smiled and did as he was told by placing his hands on the arm-rest and peering over his shoulder in a delightfully wicked expression. He expected fingers, maybe even a tongue… but he did not expect a still fully erect penis to push inside him.

"Ah-hhh!" Dick gasped, his fingers digging into the sofa as the rough hands returned to his hips, forcing him back on the engorged cock. "How?" he managed, sneaking a hand under his stomach to stroke himself. "You-ahn! You came, right?"

"Of course I did," Slade said casually as he began to fuck Nightwing with the same pace as before. "I'm afraid the drug also shortened my refractory period."

"To what?" The teen asked. "You di-didn't even- get soft!"

"Poor you," the villain teased with a tainted smirk, reaching under the teen to stroke him in time with each of his thrusts.

Hours later, the teen was shaking, moving his hips back to meet with Slade's, forcing the cock in as deeply as it could possibly go. The lube on the condom was wearing down and Dick was actually thankful that a bit of the cum from Slade's first release had leaked out the back and managed to slick up the entrance just a bit. From any other partner, Dick would have stopped them and changed condoms, or at least added more lube. He didn't particularly like pain, but with Deathstroke, a pain seemed rather natural, so he gladly endured. He could feel his thighs quivering, evidence of how long they had been at it and how close he was to his, now third, release.

"Fuck, yes!" Dick cried out, arching his back only because Slade seemed to enjoy the site and tended to fuck him a bit more rigorously when he did. He was about to let out another appreciative sound when he felt something quite unpleasant happen inside him. Dick's hips buckled suddenly and even Slade paused for a moment.

"The condom bro-" His grey eye widened slightly but Nightwing only reared back and moaned.

"I know," Dick said, rubbing back against the man, pushing himself over the cock and the renewed feeling of slickness. "Don't stop!"

"But-"

"Shut up! Shut up!" the teen growled, gritting his teeth and pushing back harder, trying to communicated to the villain just how important it was that he shut his damn mouth and get back to the really important part where both of them came and his body got some much needed rest. "Just hurry up and come!"

"That might take awhile," Slade chuckled and resumed his fast rhythm. "Round two usually lasts for hours more than this."

"God, you're kidding me," Dick groaned. "Tell me you're kidding."

"I think my record was about nine hours, but I'm willing to try and improve that." The man smirked, glad to have the upper hand for the first time that night.

"Shit," Dick mumbled, resting his upper body against the sofa arm and dropping his arms over the side. He couldn't possibly take more than a few more minutes of thrusting. He had to do something. A smiled appeared over his face and he pulled back, pushing his sweat-covered back against Slade's chest and resting his head on the man's shoulder. He waited a moment until he had the man's attention before he smirked and pushed two of his fingers into his own mouth, sucking and moaning until he felt a small break in their rhythm.

"Trying to get me to come faster?" Slade purred. The rhythm had regained its tempo and even dared to speed up a bit, making Dick wince. "Nice try, but you're going to have to do better than that."

"I intend to," the hero purred back through gritted teeth. "This is a trick… I learned from Tim."

Dick let out a very distracting moan as his fingers dipped down, slowly bringing his body to bend forward in the same direction. Slade had prepared himself for the feeling of fingers joining his cock, instead, they brushed against his balls, teasing them just lightly. Deathstroke chuckled lightly as the fingers dipped back towards his perineum. That was it? Nightwing's big plan to make him come? A little belated foreplay?

Dick let out a sly laugh of his own when the villain's chuckle stopped in mid-sound. There was good reason for it, the hero supposed. Slade was probably not the least bit prepared for the two fingers that entered him.

"Grayson-" Slade startled, but the hero pushed his body back against the villain's cock, grinding his hips almost painfully over the length in a silent but very convincing little display of lust.

"Quiet," Dick moaned, taking over the rhythm as his fingers curled and rubbed against the little bundle of sensitive flesh that years of experience taught him to appreciate. The reaction was everything he could have hoped for and more. Slade let out a hard and shaking groan as his body seemed to double over, molding his form almost perfectly against the teen's back. His fingers dug harder to the younger man's skin, dragging him back and forth as he came hard in fast currents that filled the smaller body with heat and wetness.

Dick hummed as the villain's body clenched around his fingers. He made sure to flex his own muscles, partially for show, but also as a skillful sort of milking that damn well drained the man of everything he had in him.

Slade quickly dropped a hand to the cushion, supporting his body as it shook and convulsed with orgasm. He let out a low but almost spellbound cry as his hips slammed against Dick's backside. Whatever rhythm that had been there was gone by that point. Neither Nightwing nor Deathstroke was particularly concerned with its absence; they just rode out the waves of pleasure until there was nothing left but a pair of heaving and sweaty bodies.

Dick was the first to break apart, pulling his fingers away with the rest of his body. He turned and flopped against the corner of the couch, one arm sprawled over the armrest while the other curled around the back. His blue eyes flickered down to the streaks of cum that lay cooling across his sofa, those were from his release; the large drops that created a very distinct trail from between Slade's knees to Dick's ass, however, those were from Slade. Dick gave a low purr of a chuckle, attracting Deathstroke's attention, which had also been on the soon-to-be stains.

"Weren't expecting that, were you?" Dick said with pride, his chest still heaving as he tilted his head back and let out a contented but fatigued sigh.

Deathstroke's eye flitted back down over the smaller body, taking in the sight of the skin which shimmered slightly from sweat under the pale apartment lighting. Dick's legs were parted along with his arms, flung carelessly yet meticulously into a nonchalant pose of satisfaction; his eyes were watching Slade with keen interest, almost mockingly, as if he had just finger-fucked death itself and lived to tell the tale. Nightwing had purposely left his body in that position, Slade realized quickly when he glanced at the teen's smug expression. The blue eyes glistened with lust and satisfaction as the younger man dragged a hand through his hair and smirked.

Slade gave the teen a low smile, unwilling to let the hero pretend that it had been any sort of accomplishment, an peeled off the remainder of the broken condom before tossing it carelessly on the coffee table, trying to appeal to the teen's need for order and cleanliness.

"Virgin," Dick chuckled under his breath. "Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time."

Deathstroke wondered idly if that was true. Watching Nightwing now, even after they were no longer joined at the tongue or hips, was completely surreal. It was, unquestionably, the perfect what-the-fuck cherry to his cupcake of a day. Not that he was complaining, mind you; though he would like it if he could knock the hero down a peg or two, that arrogant smirk was getting on his nerves.

"Does The Bat know you've taken to fucking your adversaries into submission?" Slade asked almost cruelly, or at least it wasn't meant to be just a tease. He disliked the inequality in their present relationship and welcomed the chance to turn the tides in his favor once again.

"Submission?" Dick snorted, noting the man's attempt to aggravate him and ignoring it. "I don't think you know the meaning of the word."

"Something we have in common," Slade gave a one-sided grin at the hero and sat back against the couch, crossing his arms behind his head and resting his feet on the table, just left of the condom. The grin became an obvious smirk, daring the hero to challenge his bad manners. Dick obviously had no intention of doing so, because he only smirked back, which was… frustrating. "But I wonder what dear old Bruce would say if he knew?" Slade's teeth were showing in his smile, creating an intimidating look that he wore quite well. "He'd think that you didn't love him anymore. How sad."

"I didn't love him," Dick corrected. "I've never been in love. With anyone."

A silence settled over them, but before it could suffocate the conversation, Slade cut through it, "Never?"

"I used to think I had, but… the more I look back on it, the more I realize that we were just using each other. He wanted release, I wanted solidarity."

"Doomed to fail."

"And it did," Dick sighed, tracing his fingertips in circles over his temporal. "Nice while it lasted, I guess, I can't pretend that I don't miss it."

"Was he the last one you really cared about?" Slade asked, the cruelty was back in his voice but it sounded diluted. The same, uneasy honesty that they had always shared was still there, only it lacked the sharpness and the intimidation. It was likely at that point that neither really had the stamina for games and witty banter.

"It was Tim," Dick replied, his voice hinting at regret. "Though I can't help but wonder if I should have stopped him… He warmed up pretty quickly after we met… probably too fast. He was just like Bruce, looking for reprieve from pain and duty… I should have known better."

"That makes two of us," Deathstroke replied gruffly.

Dick let out a long sigh through his nose before crawling closer to the man, daring to slide his hand over the naked chest. It felt a little like petting a cobra, there was the rush of caution and the excitement of not knowing when the inevitable strike would fall.

"Do you hate me for it?" Nightwing asked. "For pushing you into it when I myself should have known?"

"No," Slade smirked, letting the teen's lips close around his neck. "Who are we to fight what we think we already control?"

Deathstroke awoke hours later. He was still on the couch, stretched out with Dick on top of him. The teen was sleeping, eyes closed and fluttering slightly in dream. It seemed a shame to move him, the heat and the weight were welcomed, even comforting, though Slade would hardly admit it. Sadly, there was work to do; contracts didn't complete themselves, after all. He moved the teen carefully, slowly pushing his body to the side and onto the cushions. Dick let out a small moan, but otherwise did not stir.

Slade dared a glance back at the sleeping teen before he started toward his clothing, which was left in a haphazard pile on the floor. He didn't expect the leg to stretch out and trip him, but he managed to catch himself on his palms before his body tumbled to the floor.

"Thought you were sleeping," Slade said, his voice a strange combination of sternness and amusement.

"I was," Dick replied, his blue eyes glittering in the darkness. "Having a good dream, too. I think you owe me."

"I owe you a lot," Slade said offhandedly as he pushed himself to his feet and made towards his clothing again. "Namely a beating."

"Would you settle for a shower?" the hero asked with a flirtatious smirk. "You can beat me off in there, if you like."

"Tempting," Slade drawled as he started to pull on his clothing. It was a vast understatement. Somehow, the idea that falling asleep covered in sweat and cum had lost much of its charm. He should have jumped at the offer for a shower, but knew that staying any longer was probably ill advised… as was sleeping with Nightwing, but little details like that always seemed clearer in retrospect.

"Did you know I could deep-throat?" Dick hummed, resting his cheek on a fist and gazing airily at the man.

Apparently, retrospect had little power over libido, because Slade was beginning to think with the wrong head again. He turned back to the teen with a raised eyebrow.

"Interested?" Nightwing smirked.

Dick let out a long moan as he bared friction in his throat. His eyes were locked on Slade's and he allowed himself the pleasure of a deep blush. Slade seemed to enjoy it as well, because the smirk on his face was very self-satisfied.

"Finally found a good use for that mouth of yours," the villain said, burying his hand in the dark hair and holding the teen in place while he delivered a few good thrusts. Dick gave him a look that was either a glare or a smirk, Slade didn't particularly care which. Slade then gave another nasty little smirk before splashing some of the water into the hero's eyes, causing the blue to shut tightly and blink.

Dick let out a frustrated little grunt and pushed himself away. He could have endured the humiliation, if he chose to, but the motivation to do so simply wasn't there if he wasn't getting anything out of it. He stood and faced the wall, smirking at the tile before he turned his head and gave the villain a wanting look.

"Fuck me," he said in a low voice. It was plea, not a demand, but only because he knew that would be most effective in their current game. A soft appeal would hold far more sway than any order, at least for the moment. Deathstroke recognized for the game that it was, but allowed himself to be drawn in by the softness in the hero's voice, the kindness and the wanting. He felt wanted by the hero when he spoke with that voice, and he was willing to pretend that it was genuine, if only to ignore how lonely it felt to acknowledge that it was just play.

Slade stroked himself lightly and moved in closer, pushing his erection against the teen's entrance and earning a gasp.

"Wait!" Dick breathed as he felt the pressure building behind the thrust. "You need lube."

Slade growled and pushed the head inside, feeling Dick's heat and tightness close around him and enjoying the teen's pretty little whimper. "And what if I don't want it?" The villain asked in a husky voice. "Maybe I should make you scream while I fuck you dry… Put you out of commission while I finish my contract…"

"But what fun would that be?" Dick tried to ignore the pain as he teased, a task easier said than done when it felt like his body was being torn in two. "You want a challenge, right? You miss it. Alphonse Tagliano is a punk of a target. The only fight he can give you is the hounds and a few idiots wielding guns."

"Tagliano? So you knew all along," Slade chuckled, grabbing onto the black hair once again and wrenching Dick's head back.

"The man is walking cannon fodder, elected only because he literally bought his way into office. It wasn't hard to figure out." Nightwing grit his teeth and took a hissing breath as Slade pushed in a tiny bit more, "Come on… you know he can't give you what you want… what you need… I'm the only one alive who can take you."

Slade pulled back with a chuckle and Dick let out a quietly relieved sigh.

"I liked it better when you were sucking me off," Deathstroke grunted, smirking at the teen's blush while he reached for one of the plastic bottles, which luckily contained conditioner. "At least then you were somewhat quiet." He glanced at the bottle, "Eucalyptus? Cute, Grayson." Dick rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle, uncapping it and then squeezing it over the man's erection. The man's lips curved at the corners when his cock began to tingle lightly in the cooling cream. "Ah. I see."

The teen gave yet another cocky smile, wrapping his hands behind the man's neck and giving him another pleading look. "Lift me up?" He gave an obliging little moan as the man's hands wrapped around his waist and hoisted him up until his ass was once again flush against Slade's cock. He waited for a moment, holding his breath and waiting for the pressure. A few, long moments went by before Dick whimpered lightly and bucked his hips, urging the man to move. Deathstroke was teasing him again, working to regain the unfair advantage that he usually had over the teen. Nightwing huffed, Slade was such a sore loser. "What?" he asked, losing his patience. "Am I supposed to beg for it?"

"I wouldn't stop you if you did," the villain hummed, grabbing harder onto the wet hips and teasing his tip against the sensitive entrance, which clenched and stretched in wanting.

Dick groaned and wiggled in the man's hold. It was one thing to playfully act pitiful, but quite another to actually beg for sex. He never begged. Ever. He was too damn good at what he did.

"You know I'm too stubborn to beg," the hero chuckled, leaning in and running his tongue over Slade's lips. "And since you're too proud to play along properly, maybe we should both quit the games and go back to being brutally honest…" He bit the villain's lower lip, nipping it on the edge before swiping his tongue over the stinging skin.

"I thought you would be a bit bigger," Slade deadpanned, making the teen glare.

"Not the honesty I was going for, exactly," he rolled his eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of what I want you to do to me."

"Oh? This should be interesting," Slade chuckled. In truth, he was very curious. Years of banter with the teen had merely planted allusions of sex, never the real thing and never in such frank detail.

"Well, you can start by sliding that big, aching cock inside me." Nightwing whispered into the man's ear, moaning slightly and grinding against him. Deathstroke's face, which had been curious but restrained, broke into a chuckle and Dick growled. "Damn it, Slade. If you're not going to play along, then- ughn!" The teen curled his toes and groaned, clenching his muscles around the man's shaft, which had finally entered him in one clean sweep.

Being buried to the hilt inside the teen felt even better than before, especially now that the cocky little hero was balanced in his grip, almost completely at his mercy. "You were saying?" Slade hummed, bouncing his hips a few times and watching the teen's cock weep precum.

"I need to invest in a ball-gag for you," Dick muttered, swiping the shower water out of his eyes before pushing on the man's shoulders, giving his body enough leverage so that he could raise and lower himself over the hard length.

"Yes, but would you actually wear it?" Slade mused, hoisting the body up even higher until his cock slid all the way out, only to have the body plunge back over it with a dual set of groans.

"Oh, god," Dick threw his head back, his thighs already feeling the burn. "Shut up, seriously, please. Just do that again."

Slade, with a chuckle, did.

It wasn't long before they found another rhythm. Slade had pressed Dick's back against the wall, and was pounding into him with long but timely thrusts that damn well sent the teen into frenzy. The heat from their bodies and the steam in the small space was almost suffocating, adding to the lightheaded feeling and the need for air that was only partially satiated by the shallow gasps for breath.

"Yes! Yes!" Dick breathed, his voice interrupting the sound of skin hitting skin as it echoed back from the tiles. "Harder!"

"You're back is bruised already," Slade chuckled as he grabbed the hero's leg, pulling it up higher on his waist to change the angle. "Just how sore do you want to be?"

"Sore enough to last," Nightwing moaned. "Give me som- something to remember you by."

"You like pain, don't you?" Deathstroke mused, forcing himself harder and faster into the tightness.

"N-no," Dick gasped, trying hard not to let his eyes roll back in ecstasy. "It's just… It feels right with you. The pain and the friction… I ca-aah! Give me more… something… harder!"

Deathstroke gave a deep and throaty chuckle before pushing the teen harder against the wall, driving himself inside as far as he could go and holding the hero steady with the pressure.

"You want a scar?" the villain leered making Dick shiver with anticipation.

"Nothing too permanent," the hero gasped quietly as Slade's mouth pressed against his jaw, kissing him so gently that it almost became too painful to bare. The kiss traveled down his neckline, Slade paused to tickle the pretty little indent above the teen's collar bone with his tongue before moving on. He planted one final kiss at the base of the hero's neck before parting his lips and biting hard into the waiting skin.

Dick startled back with a moan, bucking his hips in what little space he had between the rock-hard body and the tiled wall. The pain was terrible and exquisite, drowning his senses in the steam as the man bit harder.

"Sl- don't! I'm going-" the hero started, but it was too late. His body stiffened before it broke down into a series of violent tremors as he came between their bodies, slicking up the man's stomach with his release. Somewhere between the pain of the bite and the bliss of orgasm, Slade had reached over to the forgotten conditioner bottle and twisted the little plastic cap right off its hinges, leaving a small portion of the plastic sharp and jagged. He smirked as he pulled his teeth away from the hero's body, a triumphant gleam in his eye.

Dick was still riding out the aftershocks, his head turned to the side and his chest heaving through wet and slightly parted lips. His eyes had been closed when he came, but they were open now in tiny slivers, just enough to let the brilliant blue color shine through. The eyes widened briefly as Slade pressed the jagged plastic between his bite marks, which had yet to even bruise properly. Deathstroke's movements were quick and precise, skillful as any kill before it, leaving Nightwing's skin embedded with a perfect replica of the man's insignia. The mark of the world's best assassin.

The smell of blood mingled in the steam as red currents dripped down the hero's chest. Deathstroke chuckled and gave the wound a quick flick with his tongue, collecting the copper taste in his mouth before returning to the pretty little lips. The kiss that followed was deep and strong, tasting only faintly of blood, but it was enough to drive the teen wild.

Slade chuckled into the kiss when Dick's hands dove into his hair, grabbing hard onto the white silk while his body tightened, squeezing hard on the cock inside him. They were both gasping by the time Deathstroke pulled away, dragging a tiny sting of saliva between their tongues until it snapped and disappeared in the steam.

"Take me," Dick groaned, flexing different muscles to milk the thick shaft inside him. "I want you…"

Slade gave a throaty growl, pulling back and enjoying the heavy feeling of Grayson's body hanging onto his. The smaller hands that traveled over his shoulders so sensuously would be leaving deep red marks soon, ones deep enough to bleed if the man's thrusts were hard and deep enough.

The villain almost laughed when he realized how sweet the idea of pain had become since he tasted the hero's kiss on this tongue. Dick had been absolutely correct when he described it. Neither of the wanted the pain, but it seemed only natural that they should have it. He tested his little theory with a well timed and deep hitting push of his hips. Nightwing gasped and quivered, digging his nails into the man's back and sending the desired waves of pleasure surging through him.

"Harder!" The teen moaned, bucking when Slade had paused to enjoy the sensation.

Deathstroke only smirked, his eye gleaming into the teen's as he leaned closer and whispered in a low, threatening voice, "Make me."

Dick smirked, knowing exactly what the man was after because it was exactly what he himself had wanted: Pain on top of pleasure. A memento of their bond. No more than a moment later, Nightwing's hand tightened on Slade's back, digging into the skin and forcing their bodies closer together while his other hand buried in the white hair once more, jerking the villain's head back and earning a groan.

"Fuck me," Nightwing hissed, his teeth and tongue attacking the thick neck. He was rewarded with a rich chuckle and a hard slam of Deathstroke's hips. The hero hummed and grinned against the man's neck before nipping at his collarbone. "I used to dream about this," he murmured, running his kisses over the man's neck, biting harder than he ever dared with any previous lover. "Woke up rock hard and panting… sometimes wet…" He paused to breathe, enjoying every movement, every sound that came from the assassin. "Sometimes right at the moment of release… crying out your name."

Slade let out a heavy growl and pounded the teen against the tiles, enjoying his labored breathing and the way his body tightened around him, taking everything he gave and begging for more. His perfect match in nearly every way. The only one alive who could dare to face him with less than equal standing and still come out victorious. A precious rival and an enviable lover. Nothing could compare.

"Slade," Dick cried out, clawing at the man's back as he bit his ear. "Ahn! I'm close!" The man smirked, making sure the teen's prostate was brushed with every withdrawal and entry. "Cum… with me?" the teen barely managed between gasps as he staved off his release, clenching tighter over the man's cock in the process.

"Almost," Slade hummed. He could have refused again, prolonged his orgasm until the hero was melting in his arms, but he decided against it, based largely on the way the teen clenched around him while digging his nails into the man's flesh. The feeling of that pain coupled with the desire in the sky-blue eyes pushed him ever further to the brink.

"Slade!" Dick cried out, clawing against the man's back, unsure if he had broken the skin. The look in the man's eye, that heated gaze filled with so much lust it almost seemed violent, was telling him that the skin had broken. The gaze of a killer, Dick realized with a shiver and a moan, was better than any of the partners that had watched him before. They held him there, panting, helpless, and needy, completely at the mercy of the assassin, just as he made the assassin at his mercy. "I… I can't!"

Deathstroke groaned as the tightness closed in harder around his body, squeezing him until it became too painful. Nightwing was growling, trying to stop the release that had already begun. It was a pretty sight and almost cruel in an ironic sort of way because his struggles too closely mirrored his heroic actions. He was doomed to forever chase the ideal that he could never achieve. The code he could never break, but also never control. Worse yet, Dick Grayson knew it was hopeless to resist. He knew all along, but he never once let himself give in.

"Tight," Slade muttered in a low grunt, dragging his cock in and out of the hero, feeling his balls tighten in the approaching release.

It happened just as Grayson's mouth crashed against his, grinding their lips against each other in a deep and powerful kiss that might leave bruises on the teen. Slade damn near bit off the kid's tongue when he felt the first wave shooting out. Somehow, they both endured, writhing and moaning against each other in a frenzied, almost angry fit of lust that milked them both dry.

Dick gasped prettily for air as their lips pulled apart. He could feel Slade inside him still, not exactly hard but a far cry from soft. His weary eyes looked at the man and he smiled, the lust slowly wearing down to satisfaction as they each regained their breath. It wasn't until Nightwing leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against Slade's, that the man finally pulled out.

The hero's muscles clenched and burned in the absence of the thickness and heat and he let out a small hiss.

"You're bleeding," Slade told him, looking down at his length and the small bit of blood that coated it.

"It's fine," Dick said, allowing his legs to uncurl themselves from the man's hips and actually support his own weight. "I've got some medicine."

"Does that happen often?" Slade cocked a brow and studied his young partner.

"No. Not since my first few times," Dick shrugged, placing his hand against the wall and testing the pain from deep inside his body. "But it's been awhile, and you're a bit bigger and rougher than I'm used to. Not that I'm complaining, though, I haven't climaxed like that since I was hopping rooftops in green tights."

Deathstroke had a small flashback and felt a pang of wonder and guilt. How much sooner could he have taken the hero? How much sooner could he have known the ecstasy and fought off the loneliness? He smirked at his own realization. He couldn't have. He wouldn't have allowed himself that pleasure; he was too stubborn to admit loneliness and too oblivious to the plight of his own desperation. And he had been desperate. It took a cocky little hero with a willing body to show him how badly he wanted to be bound to something. Anything, really. Anything that could give him something more than himself, something to hold on to that wouldn't slip away. Adeline's bond had broken long before her death, it was something Slade knew but never fully accepted. He couldn't bear to. Grant's bond… It had broken when he found that he wasn't powerful. He wanted power so badly that he destroyed himself for it, and somewhere along the line he had blamed his father for endowing his younger brother with a power he did not even want. Joey… That bond was broken early, sliced through with the same blade that took his voice. And lastly, Wintergreen, the man who saved him countless times, the one who forgave him when he had wronged so terribly… His last words before he was beheaded by a mad and possessed Deathstroke would haunt Slade until his dying day. 'I suppose it was only a matter of time.' How long had their bond been severed? Surely it must have been before the murder. No one could say but Wintergreen, and he was certainly in no state to be saying anything.

Slade watched as Nightwing turned to him, smiling and watching, probably knowing exactly what was going through the mercenary's head. There was no trust there. No love. It was a bond of understanding and familiarity, unable to be broken by hate because that was the very foundation from which it had grown. The most strained but also the most steadfast bond that Deathstroke could ever have.

Dick's lips pressed against his. The boy was smiling, gloating, maybe, or just enjoying the company. Apparently he had already sorted it all out, and knew exactly what it was, the bond between them. He'd probably known for ages, long before he had ever taken that first step. He had been waiting for the right moment, knowing that sooner or later the time would come, pouncing when it finally arrived. The mark of a good hunter, Slade mused as he smirked into the kiss, was always patience.

Dick Grayson opened his eyes an hour after sunrise, alone in his bed except for the warm spot that Slade had left behind. The villain had departed only fifteen or so minutes before; Dick had woken up, naturally, but didn't stop him from leaving that time. The teen gave a knowing shrug before sitting up and stretching. There was a fair amount of pain there, but he didn't pay it much attention. He had the day off, after all, why would he worry about a little soreness and a few drops of blood?

He chuckled as he moved into the kitchen and started the coffee pot. The clock on the device made his smirk grow even wider. Alphonse Tagliano was probably half way to Washington D.C., where a cozy little cell and a lengthy trial was waiting for him. Someone with a keen eye and access to police records had alerted the proper authorities in the capitol, men and women who actually cared enough to protect the law. The sting operation had taken place the very day that Deathstroke sauntered into Blϋdhaven. Dick himself had organized the plan so, naturally, it went off without a hitch.

The sound of the machine percolating broke his train of thought, which was just as well, because he was really looking forward to lounging around his apartment bare-ass naked and sipping a cup of Joe. Somewhere out there, Deathstroke was hunting for prey that had unwittingly eluded him already… At least for now. The important thing was that Blϋdhaven was safe from Deathstroke until the next contract. Nightwing had protected it. That was good enough for the time being.

Dick filled his cup and made his way over to the couch, eyeing the mess left on the cushions and the broken condom sprawled across the coffee table. He chose to ignore it, sitting down and putting his feet on the table before grabbing the forgotten newspaper on the floor and opening it, recreating the sight that he himself had walked in on the night before. Perhaps Slade would join him after a day of unsuccessful hunting, perhaps not. Either way, it was shaping up to be a pretty little day in Blϋdhaven.

If you liked this story, please take a moment to wish Kay a very happy (belated, my fault!) birthday and thank her for requesting it! Without her, there would be no smut here and THAT would be TERRIBLE D:!