Rating: M, NC17, R—take your pick.

Warnings: Explicit sexual encounters involving males, swearing, Dub-con.

Pairing: Slade/Robin

Summary: Robin has a new suit and is on a power-trip. Can Slade handle this mysterious new character? I should think so.

A/N: As I've alluded to, I'm back again with another poorly written Sladin story, haha. This will be considered my very own Christmas present; late because everything is cheaper on Boxing Day. This Sladin story, unlike my last, will contain actual sex-finally. You've been warned.

Quick notes:

-Deathstroke=Slade=Slade Wilson

-Dredge League=Made up

-Deadpool= Marvel Comics character, so we'll pretend Marvel Comics exist in Robin's real life DC world.

And without further ado;

My Rules

Robin usually played by the rules. His old team might have even said he had written the damn rule book. Which was in a way true, considering how many rules he had written down for his team to follow.

And it wasn't like Robin was breaking the rules now, as he slowly and carefully donned a suit reminiscent of the Red X suit he had made so many years ago. He was just bending them a little—in the name of Justice.

He'd gone from city to city after he'd decided to break away from the Titans when he'd finally felt as though he'd outgrown them, never staying too long in any one place. He still hadn't found his own city yet. Somewhere that was particularly challenging.

This, however, hadn't stopped him from kicking crime in the ass in every city he'd visited in the last six months—using various different disguises and fabricated super-hero alias' to leave a confusing trail behind him.

And now he was trying on a new costume, one of his more impressive creations. It completely covered his whole body and possessed a built in voice changer, and was made of a material comparable to Kevlar, but was far lighter and more pliable, yet maybe three times stronger. His own patent.

Robin was in a new city now, planning on taking out one of the largest crime syndicates in the West. It would be a huge challenge for him, but he'd felt a little bored lately. With a grin he pulled a completely opaque red cloth mask over his face and looked into the mirror of the crappy motel room bathroom. Robin thought he looked like Deadpool, and liked the idea. Maybe he'd adopt the fictional character's name this time round, and maybe even his personality. That could be fun. Deadpool wasn't exactly a hero, that was for sure, and Robin wasn't aiming to look like a hero, but an up-and-coming crime boss who was looking to take over some turf.

Like when he'd made the Red X persona, he was planning on going undercover for this job. For the first time since then, he was going to play the part of the bad guy.

With his belt strapped on, complete with a holstered gun which he was using more as a prop than anything, Robin slipped out the second story window, flipping himself up onto the roof.

He knew where the heads of the syndicate had their hideout; down by the docks for easier access to overseas drug cartels. He'd been studying them for about a week know, and figured it was about time to strike.

But unfortunately for him, as he arrived just before midnight, someone else had already beat him to it.

Robin's black rimmed white eyes narrowed as he looked in through one of the skylights of the seemingly abandoned warehouse. All of the crime bosses were there, just as he had anticipated, since they were expecting a particularly large shipment of cocaine that evening. But among them was someone Robin hadn't been expecting. Someone he hadn't seen in over two years.

Deathstroke.

Whatever the mercenary was doing down there probably wouldn't coincide well with the plan Robin had been meticulously setting up for a week. Even after two years the man somehow managed to miff Robin in every way possible.

The young hero had been planning on jumping into the building through the skylight dramatically—he'd always had a flare for theater—and giving the mob bosses an ultimatum that they couldn't refuse; because they'd be at gunpoint. And as much as he still wanted to do this—he was fairly certain he could nullify their defense by taking out the lackies surrounding the room in an instant—Slade was a wildcard he wasn't sure he could handle.

So instead, Robin slipped quietly into the building, using a grappling hook to suspend himself from a rafter to get into better hearing range.

And what he heard pissed him off. Quite a lot.

Apparently Deathstroke was offering the leaders of the Dredge League an ultimatum. And he didn't even need the gun. Because he was fucking Deathstroke. The mercenary just stood there calmly with his arms folded across his well-defined chest dictating his demands to the shaking crime bosses. None of the lackies were moving. Probably because they were unconscious.

What the hell could the mercenary want with an operation like this? Money? Robin didn't think so. But whatever it was, Robin was going to officially go out of his way to fuck up Slade's plan, and at the same time hopefully he would be able to destroy the syndicate.

But Robin couldn't just go in guns blazing; Slade would probably destroy him. Nor could he pull the hero card; Slade would recognize him almost immediately.

But then Robin remembered exactly who he was supposed to be in this costume, and he had to admit he'd always had the urge to try out a little acting. So until he managed to take Slade down, he was going to add a little bit of Deadpool to his repertoire.

Deathstroke paused, his head cocking slightly to the side.

The shadow that had been following him stopped, before breaking out into laughter. Warped laughter that didn't sound human. A voice changer then.

"Hard to believe an old man like you has such good hearing!" The shadow called out, before popping up in front of the mercenary.

Slade didn't both to respond, nor did he have to as the red-costumed man suddenly darted forward on the attack. Slade blocked the first punch easily, but the second one almost broke his jaw.

"Not too shabby for an old codger like yerself!" Robin added in a slight accent, knowing it would through the man off his scent even more. He flipped back and away, making sure it was in a manner that was completely different from the acrobatic moves he had once used on Slade. He'd use a completely different style of fighting as well. He drew a katana he'd picked up from a street vender earlier that day to fit the Deadpool profile better, smirking as Slade drew a broadsword from his back.

"Yer an oldschool motherfucker aren't ya?" The two blades clashed, and Robin was surprised his shitty fifty dollar katana didn't break on impact. Maybe he had a fighting chance after all.

He spun around the mercenary, always taunting, doing everything that was as un-Robinas he possibly could. His attacks were indirect instead of the over-concentrated hits of his impatient youth, his movements more showy than the disciplined necessity of his style before. Finally however, his sword did break, and that's where Robin's true plan kicked in.

He'd been underplaying his strength for the whole fight, never giving Slade an inkling of his true capabilities, and in the last moment before Slade took his head off, Robin disappeared, coming up behind the momentarily confused man, the mouth of a gun pressed against the man's temple.

"I'm impressed." Robin said lightly, making sure the man had no opportunity to get out of his direct line of fire. Resultantly, he was pressed up against the man's back, and with the cockiness of his character thudding through his veins, he wrapped his other arm around the man's shoulder and leaned into to whisper into Slade's ear. "I could sure teach you a thing er two though…"

He snickered as he felt Slade's body tense, but wasn't too worried about the man breaking away. Slade didn't know he was Robin. He didn't know he would never pull the trigger.

"Come on now, lighten up! Ya did real good. I might even just reward ya for a job well done." Robin wasn't entirely sure if it was just his adopted character that made him do what he did next, or if maybe he was actually really suffering from a psychological disorder.

"But ya gotta remember that ya lost, so its gunna be a punishment all the same…" With a violent shove he pushed Slade onto his knees, his mind filling with wonderment as the man actually went down, and he walked slowly around to face him, the gun still pressed perilously close to the man's temple.

"You've been a naughty boy you know, stealin' my idea for takin' over that Dredge League that've been runnin' the city lately. That was supposed to be my job." Robin heard the pout in the warped voice that came out of his mouth, and he wondered just how much Slade hated him in that moment. "So now I'm gunna have to make sure you disappear, unless you do me a favour or two…"

Slade, up until that point, had been curiously quiet, his blue and orange hood giving away just about as many clues as his old steel mask had given as to what the man was thinking. Robin almost jumped as he heard the man speak again for the first time in two years.

"And what might those favours be?" The man demanded, his voice as commanding as Robin remembered it, even moreso, even in spite of the fact that he was held at gunpoint. It had a disturbing effect on Robin.

"I want ya to destroy the Dredge League from the inside out. One of the bosses pissed me off a while back. Ya can do whatever you want after it's collapsed, though." Robin was surprised as the man on his knees in front of him nodded; for some reason he had never envisioned this plan actually working.

"And I'm going ta keep pesterin' ya till ya get the job done. I'll check up on ya every once in a while… and if ya don't get it done in a week…" Robin wondered if he was smirk was visible under the red cloth covering his face. He took the safety off the gun.

"Blam!"

Slade chuckled slightly at the noise, and nodded again.

"I wasn't planning on leaving any of them alive anyway." The man assured him, which only made Robin regret his plan all the more.

"Now what was the other favour?"

Robin hesitated for a moment, but only the slightest, and then he slipped back into character again. Or at least he hopped he had.

"Well there's the matter of yer punishment, ya see… Fer losin' an' all." Robin felt his hands shaking slightly as he moved it down to press between his legs. "Ya see, it's a real turn on fer me to get into a good fight…and I must say, yer a good fighter…"

Robin's face was aflame underneath his red mask. It was a part-truth. The only time he'd ever gotten turned on in a fight was with Slade. He'd never forgiven himself for it before, and he still wasn't sure he could now.

Slade's eye narrowed, and Robin was actually afraid the man might find some way to kill him in that instant. There was the barest hint of a nod, and before Robin could change his mind, he moved his hand up to slip under the red cloth of his pants, pulling his jock-strap away to get at his half-hard cock which he presented to his captive.

"I want ya to suck it…" Robin muttered, hoping to God he didn't sound as scared as he felt. But underneath that fear was a feeling of power Robin had never even considered before. And it felt good in a way that scared him even more.

His eyes widened as he watched Slade's hand come up to the juncture of his breastplate and the neck of his mask, and watched as the hand inexorably pulled the blue and orange cloth up…just high enough to expose his neck, chin and lips.

Robin had seen pictures of Slade unmasked ever since he'd finally discovered the man's identity as Deathstroke the Terminator and subsequently Slade Wilson. The pictures had shocked him, but it was nothing compared to the real thing.

The part of the man's face that he could see was rugged yet well-defined and with strong jaw sporting a small white goatee that Robin found disturbingly attractive. He wasn't able to stare for long however, as he eyes forcefully closed shut of their own accord as Slade's hand wrapped around the base of his cock, pulling the young man forward to press against his lips.

Robin should had been suspicious over how eager Slade was being, pulling Robin into his mouth without another word of command form the young boy. But Robin was a bit too busy to be using brain function at that particular instant.

Slade's mouth was heavenly. The man took his whole dick down his throat so easily, sucking and bobbing like the man was born to do this. Screw his prowess as a hunter and a killer. This man should quit being a mercenary and take up being a professional whore. Scratch that. Robin's professional whore.

Robin blushed, felling like a child as his hips bucked forward of their own volition, but it was all he could do to keep from fucking the man's face straight out. He let his free hand rest on Slade's head, desperately wishing he could get a handful of white hair for better leverage.

His eyes were rolling back into his head as Slade moved his hand up to cup Robin's balls, slowly rolling them in his palm as he laved the underside of the young man's cock with a pliant tongue. Robin was amazed that he wasn't moaning like a bitch in heat, but for good measure he decided to throw a cocky taunt out just to make sure he didn't appear completely out of it.

"Ya got a fine mouth on ya." He managed, not feeling particularly witty at the moment. "Must have an aweful lotta practice with lips that sinful."

Robin wanted to punch himself, but figured the comment had been rewarding, since it caused Slade to laugh around his cock, sending delightful shivers down his back that left his legs shaking.

The hero-turned-rapist bit off a cry as he came in well under five minutes; a shameful performance to be sure, but as with everything else that went wrong with his life, he blamed Slade.

The man pulled back, waiting patiently as Robin came down from his high. He ended up having to cough lightly to get the boy's attention back onto him, however, as Robin stared into space blankly for well over a minute.

Robin was flushed red again, but managed to act cool enough as he tucked himself back into his pants and pulled the gun away from Slade's head.

"Remember now, Imma check up on ya every once in a while, so you'd best get to work quick old man. Now get on yer way." He waved the gun at the man, who got up, brushed himself off, and walked away.

It was then that Robin started to get worried.

But at that point he was too addicted to care.