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Like a Drug

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Even Jason can admit that it was a little disturbing how quickly he had proven himself to be a liar in the aftermath of his encounter with Slade. How quickly his words—This was just a one time thing, it won’t happen again—had fallen flat.

What happened between them was supposed to be a passing moment of weakness; an indulgence that never should have been. Something he could have, should have, been able to shake off easily, and then never think about again. But after they had finished cleaning up and parted ways from the abandoned subway tunnel where it had taken place, Jason had gone back to his current hideout and, for the first time since the Joker took him, slept the whole night through with an ease he later found frightening upon waking.

There had been no nightmares. No bad dreams. He hadn’t twisted himself into a knot amongst the blankets the way he usually did, shaking with the memory of hard fists and burning brands, or woken up drenched in a sweat that required him to immediately take a shower and change his clothing afterwards.

Instead there had been nothing. Nothing but a comforting darkness, and though he’d tried to excuse the change through a hundred other factors at first, when it came down to it, Jason could only really think of one reason why.

It had only gotten worse when he met Slade again the next day to hear his report from the training grounds in South America. Despite his best efforts to stay focused, Jason soon found himself growing distracted at every turn. Slade’s voice was the same deep rumble it had always been, but now that sound carried different connotations — and memories — with it. When he gestured with his hands to make his point, Jason could only think of how they’d felt sliding over his skin; reaching down and into the deepest and most intimate parts of him. His voice commanding, his gaze — that piercing shade of blue that seemed to see through every defence he had — studiously watching him come apart, and then Slade…

Then Slade had stopped talking, at least for a moment, and while Jason was struggling to remember exactly what it was he said last so that he could offer a suitable response, simply shaken his head and smiled down at him.

“Are you sure this is the way you want it to be, kid?”

Jason had opened his mouth to deny he wanted anything, but then… well.

He never has been able to look at his workbench the same way after that.

Now, three months later, and so much closer to the promised day itself, Jason can’t help shivering as he kneels on the carpeted floor of one of Slade’s safehouses in Gotham, barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose sweatpants.

How it had come to this, from one secretly sordid encounter to the next, is something of a blur. A haze of needy sensation. Jason knows that he should regret this arrangement of theirs, should stop it. He thinks about doing so every time, but he’d faltered from the first, and now he can’t seem to stop himself from sliding ever further down that slippery slope into the hell that he’s created for himself — though hell may not be quite the right word for it.

His time with the Joker (Bruce’s fault, always Bruce’s fault), that had been hell. This on the other hand, was something entirely different.

With hungry eyes, Jason watches Slade take another sip from his wine glass. The motion is slow, relaxed, as if they have all the time in the world together; as if what’s coming two days hence may never arrive.

Just like Jason, Slade is dressed down now, wearing nothing but a plain white button-up shirt and dark slacks that are cut just right to hide the full breadth of the muscle beneath. No boots or gloves. No mask either, to cover the handsome lines of his face. The first time Jason saw Slade out of uniform had been a revelation, a glimpse of the man behind the mercenary; now, it inspires an almost pavlovian reaction in him as he strains to keep his arms positioned behind his back and not do anything Slade will make him regret.

Finally, Slade deigns to talk to him. “You’re restless tonight.”

Of course he is, Jason resists the urge to point out. These moments, these days, when Jason is antsy, or irritated, vibrating with the force of all the pent up energy and emotion inside of him, are the entire reason they’re here. That’s the deal they have. Slade purges him of those emotions, stops him from shaking apart, and for a little while longer Jason is able to hold himself together as they both go about their separate business. Or at the very least until the next time Slade comes to visit rolls around.

Jason gets clarity, peace; the temporary expulsion of his demons by handing over his control — however briefly — to another, and Slade… Slade gets a good fuck out of it, he supposes, and confidence that his employer will have the focus to finish what he started. That’s what Jason thinks, anyway.

“Is that a problem?” He raises his chin up, even as he clenches his hands tighter around his wrists. His submission may be the eventual goal here, but that’s still not something he can ever hand over without a fight, no matter how many times Slade has proven he’s capable of pushing him into it.

The question prompts Slade’s eye to narrow. The wine glass, now empty, is set down on the floor in front of the bed. Whereas Jason’s safehouses are places of bare necessity, Slade’s own are far more comfortable, which is part and parcel of why they started meeting here to do this rather than there. Carpeted floors, a comfortable bed, and well stocked with all the little luxuries Slade likes to enjoy on his nights off. “Why don’t you tell me, kid? And remember what was missing at the end of that sentence while you’re at it.”

Just the tone of his voice is enough to make Jason’s toes curl under him.

He licks his lips, which are dry and cracked from the cold October air outside. “Depends on what you’re planning.” He says, then almost pointedly adds, “Sir.”

Slade’s footsteps are barely a whisper on the floor as he stands up and moves behind him. Jason feels his body tense in anticipation, and isn’t disappointed when a large hand clenches in his hair, dragging his head back as Slade crouches down. Hot breath washes over the rim of Jason’s ear when he speaks. “Oh no, Jason. This is about what you’re planning, remember? You, the Scarecrow, and the Bat.”

Jason clenches his teeth at the reminder. “It’s fine.” he assures him, “I’m ready for that. For him.”

Another whisper of fabric. Now, Slade’s broad chest is resting against his back, and Jason has to fight doubly hard not to break the first commandment Slade gave him tonight: not to reach out and touch. Not until he’s earned it. Jason’s half-caught in anticipation of what that disobedience would bring, and half-desperate to please by resisting it, especially when Slade pulls him again by his hair, harder and further until Jason’s head is resting back against his shoulder. “Is that right? Tell me.”

“I’m going to kill him.” he shudders as the next rush of air passes over the brand on his cheek. “I’m going to see him dead and Gotham ruined.”

Slade’s hand clenches tighter in his hair, while its partner wraps around Jason from the front, pressing firmly in against his stomach. “And you mean it? There’s no regrets running through that pretty head of yours tonight? No lingering sentimentality over Wayne making you second guess your choices?”

Jason hisses at the first pinch of pain in his scalp, made worse when he tries to shake his head in denial.

“None.” his words are hard as iron, as steel. He’s not falling apart this time. He just needs an edge, needs an outlet for the nervous energy tapping at his bones, and if this is a test, Jason fully intends to pass it. “He’s going to get what he deserves. They all will for abandoning me.” He clenches his teeth harder, staring up at the yellow light overhead until his eyes start to sting from its brightness. “For forgetting me.”

The glass case he found in the cave doesn’t matter. Neither does the framed photograph sitting at the foot of it. Nothing more than a lie, all of it. Just a pretty veneer to cover up the ugly truth of what Bruce was. Of what he had done.

Slade hums before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the arch of Jason’s shoulder. His beard scratches over the skin there, scarred and smooth alike. It’s a reward for his conviction, even as Slade asks, “Then why are you here?”

Jason shudders and gasps at the press of teeth that follows next. He’s already hard in his pants, has been almost since the first moment Slade touched him. “Slade…”

“Say it, kid. You know the rules of this game by now. You tell me the truth before anything else, and ask me for what you want.”

He bites back a moan, trying to bow his head forward. But the grip Slade has on his hair won’t let him. “I…”

Even now it’s hard for him to say it. Slade had started enforcing this rule from the third time they’d slept together onwards, even before any of the subsequent rules came into play. Pushing Jason each time to admit his desires; to be honest rather than hide behind a sharp tongue and denial. He gets off on it, Jason thinks, on hearing him ask for what he shouldn’t. But Slade also doesn’t like him to give in so easily. He likes to have to work for it a little, the same as Jason likes to be worked for.

“N-need everything spelled out for you, huh?”

Slade sighs behind him, then the hand he has resting on Jason’s stomach is suddenly around his throat and squeezing. Jason inhales reflexively, the grip he has on his own wrists behind him breaking as his hands fly reflexively upwards, clawing at Slade’s bicep like an animal before he finds himself being shoved down onto the floor.

He gasps, both at the impact and weight of Slade’s bulk bearing down upon him. Not only is his strength as impossibly impressive now as it always has been — a living advertisement for the unexpected perks of volunteering for military experimentation — but worse, the position can’t help but inspire a visceral flashback to the first time they fucked; Slade’s fingers shoving into his mouth in punishment for Jason snarling back at him.

The burn of the carpet against his cheek isn’t quite the same as the rough floor of the tunnel, but the way he still has to struggle to draw breath past Slade’s hand more than makes up for it.

“Say that again.” Slade says sweetly in his ear, beard scraping across his skin again. “Go on. Give me every excuse to tell you no and toss you out onto the street.”

“Y… You...” Drool slides out of his mouth when he tries to talk. There’s not enough air in Jason’s lungs for him to make words with, but despite what he just said, Slade doesn’t actually seem interested in hearing him speak.

“You come to me for this, remember? You follow my rules. Shedding that armour of yours, kneeling on my floor like a good boy.” Jason shudders at the two words in conjunction with each other. He pants like a dog, wanting them to be given to him directly, wanting that praise that has always been his life’s blood and too often denied to him.

Dumb. Worthless. Useless kid. Those had been his terms of endearment growing up. No love, no cherishment. Just the back of a hand if he was lucky, the ring of a belt if he was not. Even before Bruce and the Joker got hold of him, Jason had scars aplenty.

With a background like that, after being betrayed by two different sets of parents twice over, was there any wonder he found himself starving for even a show of that affection now? It doesn’t matter if the man offering it to him is a ruthless mercenary, it’s what Jason craves.

“Sl… ade…”

Slade squeezes his throat tighter, hard enough to white out Jason’s vision from the twisted thrill of it for a moment, if not leave bruises. Then the hold relaxes, letting him drag just enough air back into his lungs that he can talk.

“You don’t want it to be like this all night tonight, do you, kid? Not before your big day.” Slade drags thick fingers back through Jason’s hair, raking them over his scalp. “You want me to take care of you, right? Give what I have to give. So go ahead and ask me for it. Nicely.”

“I want…” he coughs a little, swallowing back the well of saliva that’s piled into his mouth. “I want…” The small violence hasn’t done anything to distill the stiffness of his cock between his legs, only enhanced it with the thrill of adrenaline, and Jason squirms now like some helpless teenager, rubbing himself against the floor in an attempt to gain friction; any friction.

Slade on the other hand, is as patient as any angler while he waits him out. “Go on.”

“You.” he whispers eventually. “God damn it, Slade. You know I want…” The fingers tighten again on his throat in brief warning. Jason hiccups before correcting himself. “I—I want you to... to… ah, fuck me. Please.”

“Crude as always.” Slade says, but he sounds pleased. Another kiss against his jaw is Jason’s reward. “But don’t worry, I know what you need. Out of your head, all right?”

When Slade’s grip on him loosens enough for him to do so, Jason nods. Those four words have an almost religious connotation to him now.

He’s not on the edge of falling apart this time. No nightmare haunted him when he woke up today, nor has his scar been itching. But still he needs this. Needs that. Everything he’s planned for over a year is about to come to a head, and the knowledge that he’s so close to it keeps eating at him. He’s buzzing with energy that needs an outlet; a distraction, even if just for a few hours, and he needs it before that buzzing can get any worse.

His time with Slade isn’t always a cure: sometimes it’s a preventative measure. Other times, it’s both.

The sound Slade makes this time is a thoughtful one, as if weighing his options. While he thinks, his hand gentles in Jason’s hair, though the grip he has around his throat remains firm. A collar without an actual chain.

Jason swallows hard at the thought.

“So…” he says, after a moment of dealing with that. “You actually going to do anything or…”

Slade snorts against his temple, before dragging him back up into the same kneeling position he was in before. “Stay.” Is the simple command, “Hands behind you back. You need to earn your reward before it’s given, and if you move again before I tell you to, I will make you regret it.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Another snort. Then Slade is up on his feet, moving away towards a corner of the room while Jason locks his hands together again behind his back, fingers around his wrist and holding himself contained. Another rule (Jason’s own this time): they don’t use actual restraints. The one time Slade had tried to fasten handcuffs on him as part of the play Jason had reacted, badly, and after all the effort it took to calm him back down, they never tried it again.

If he can’t get out of it himself at a moment’s notice, then it doesn’t go on. The only exception to that rule is Slade’s own hands, which when they’re around him — holding Jason by his wrists or throat or hair — are warm, thrilling. He doesn’t understand why he can stand that when he can’t the cuffs or rope, but like the best of addicts, at this point Jason’s largely stopped questioning it.

What works, works. What doesn’t, doesn’t. The rest he can quite happily live without.

Which is why it surprises him so much when Slade comes back carrying a slip of red fabric in his hands.

“Slade…” Jason knows he’s tensing up as he comes closer, swallowing hard. The steady fluttering of his pulse beneath his fingers ratchets up a beat.

“Easy, kid.” Slade says calmly as he kneels again, in front of Jason this time. “This isn’t for that.”

“Then what is it for?”

His eyes track the material as Slade slides it between his fingers. Then he lifts it up, holding it against Jason’s face and letting him feel its softness. Silk, he thinks, at that almost liquid glide, it’s silk.

Jason shudders when the fabric passes over the brand mark on his left cheek, barely tickling the sensitive edges of the scar. For Slade to have something like that, even just a single strip of it, instantly has his curiosity peaking.

“A blindfold.”

The words, innocuous enough on their own, make Jason’s heart almost stop in his chest. A blindfold? Slade wants to...

Slade doesn’t hesitate as he drops the silk away from Jason’s face. He wraps it around both hands, then strokes his thumbs along the length of the strip. “Same rules apply as always. You don’t want it, tell me now. You want it off at any time, you want anything to stop at anytime, you tell me; use the safe word we agreed on. Nothing happens here that you don’t want, kid, you know that.”

Jason considers it, holding back on his initial instinct, which is to say ‘no’. “Why?”

Slade smirks at him, a relaxed curl of his lips. “Removing one sense heightens the others, Jason, you know that.” He moves his hands forwards, this time pressing the silk against the line of Jason’s throat. “I want you focused on what you can feel tonight, not what you can see.”

Jason inhales sharply at the touch. Against his throat, even the silk has a threatening edge.

“Think you can handle that?”

Jason clenches his teeth together. Blindfolds had never been… Out of all the various tortures the Joker had used, blindfolds fall relatively low on the scale for him. They had mostly been used during the early days of his torture to disorientate him, and for dramatic effect. Once Joker had broken Jason down into his obedient puppet however, they’d become less and less common.

The thing about the clown is—was, he had been a showman. An attention whore. He liked to be seen and appreciated for all his vile acts. He liked to watch as Jason panicked with the knowledge of what was coming to him; to see him squirm and flinch even when he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

If there was one lesson Jason had learned from his time with him, it was that. The pain would come, it always did.

And because of that, because of him, Jason’s not afraid of pain anymore, and the dark has always been his friend more than an enemy. A place to hide and heal, to be alone. Jason knows he can handle that; it’s whether he trusts Slade to be around him when he can’t see that’s the problem. But then, Slade has also never been anything but loyal from the moment Jason handed over his first exorbitantly priced wage cheque. Jason’s sure he won’t turn on him. Not until the job is done, anyway.

Still, it never hurts to be cautious.

“If I need it off, it comes off.” he agrees, “And I can take it off myself if I need to. No matter what else you’ve told me to do.”

Slade’s smirk doesn’t drop, in fact it widens. “Good boy.” he praises, whether for Jason’s acceptance or for him enforcing his own conditions is debatable, but the sentiment behind them doesn’t matter half as much as the words themselves.

The silk stays at his throat as Slade leans in to kiss him, and Jason raises his head expectantly up to meet it. Like all their kisses, it can’t be called gentle. Slade’s not that sort of man. He takes Jason’s mouth like he has a right to it, like he owns it, spearing his tongue in between his lips and sweeping it broadly across Jason’s own. A sentiment that should trouble him, except it’s more or less precisely what he’s here for.

Jason squeezes his wrist behind him, closing his eyes as he eagerly pushes up against the kiss. The taste of wine is strong over Slade’s tongue, rich and sour-edged, and without thinking he sucks on it, seeking to draw out more of that flavour — as well as a surprised grunt from Slade that is not at all displeased.

“Eager already.” He chuckles when they part, leaving Jason panting. “Now, let’s see if we can put that energy to good use.”

Slade leans back, the silk withdrawing with him. Despite his conviction, Jason still swallows as Slade raises his hands, but doesn’t flinch when the material moves forwards towards his face, lingering for a moment against the bridge of his nose before pressing in over his eyes. He keeps them open as Slade fastens the blindfold behind his head, fingers brushing his hair before drawing the knot closed. With the silk in place, the familiar sight of Slade’s face vanishes to be replaced by a field of red, similar in shade to the inner display of Jason’s helmet.

It’s… it’s not dark, he realises. Not entirely, and that in itself is a pleasant surprise. He should have known better than to think his sight would be removed completely; Slade always thinks of these little details in regards to their play, and to him.

It’s the kind of thoughtfulness that would be touching to Jason — that is, if he actually let himself believe it came from a place of genuine caring.

“You all right there, kid?” Slade asks him, thumb brushing against his lips now.

He manages a nod, “Yes,” then, when Slade’s fingers tighten on his jaw, adds in a “sir.” onto the end of it.

“Good.”

He gasps when Slade’s hand suddenly curls around the back of his neck, pulling him up higher onto his knees and then forward. There’s no pain, not yet, but the grip is inexorable, as is the force pushing him along. Slade offers no further words of guidance, his hand alone enough to tell Jason what to do as they move across the carpet.

Eyes still open to that scarlet field, Jason does his best to recall the layout of the apartment in front of him: large, open-plan, more of a studio with only the bathroom set behind a separate door rather than a network of rooms, which leaves a lot of options for where Slade could be leading him. He knows it’s not the bed, that would’ve been directly ahead, and their path has them veering to the left. The couch? The dining table? Before he can figure it out, Slade stops.

“Lean forward. On your hands and knees against the floor.” Slade scratches the back of Jason’s neck fondly as he scrambles to obey the order, not losing his grip for an instant despite the way Jason has to bow forwards to place his hands down. Then he lets go, stepping around him, and Jason bites his lip as he tries to concentrate on the soft sound of Slade’s feet against the floor before a creak of leather alerts him to exactly where they are.

There’s only one armchair in the room, set between the couch and the bed. One of those wingback creations made of brown leather and rich mahogany wood. Expensive, luxurious. There were similar ones in Wayne Manor back when he lived there, though those were antiques and this one is decidedly not. Slade must have sat down on it, but the strange thing is, the sound comes from Jason’s left, rather than in front of or behind him like he’d expect it to.

“Sir,” he says cautiously, “What—”

“I haven’t finished my wine yet, so you’re going to stay there, exactly like that, until I do. And you’ll take anything else I do to you in the meantime without question or complaint, understand?”

Still confused by what’s happening, Jason can only nod. His obedience was guaranteed the moment he climbed in through Slade’s window, shedding his armour in more ways than one. He only needs to know what is expected of him so that he can fulfill it.

Slade doesn’t make him wait long for an answer. Barely a minute passes before a weight settles down against his back, just preceding the sound of liquid being poured into a glass from a bottle, and for a moment Jason is stunned.

Did Slade just… has he seriously just…

The weight is Slade’s feet, he realises. His legs resting against his back. Jason’s fingers dig harder into the plush carpet beneath him, a snarl almost crossing his lips even as his mind races to figure the reasoning behind the action out — as well as resist his initial compulsion to throw Slade off him.

The first, and obvious, answer that he comes up with is that press of Slade’s legs is there to add weight and strain to the position that he has been ordered to maintain, thereby making it more challenging for Jason to keep to his command. But the parts of him that haven’t complete surrendered yet — that won’t switch off entirely until they’re much deeper into their play — knows it can’t just be that. It can’t be that simple. There has to be something more to it.

So, after taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jason thinks again.

Slade knows that using him as something so menial as a footrest would rankle at his pride. That it would push Jason to fight back and disobey. And if he disobeys then he’ll earn himself a punishment — or worse, he’ll break the scene, which while fun for Slade, is the exact opposite of what he wants.

You need to earn your reward before it’s given was what Slade had said to him, and though he can’t see it, Jason knows Slade’s eye will be on him now, reading every minute twitch of his muscles and the clench of his jaw. With that in mind, he forces himself to breath through the immediate anger that comes with the motion, to focus instead on what his obedience can bring: the memory of Slade’s hands and mouth on him, breaking him open in far more pleasant ways.

He can take this, Jason realises. Anything Slade has to give him, he can take, gladly, all for his approval.

Finally relaxing again, Jason shifts his hands and knees as much as he reasonably can to adjust for the extra pressure on his back. Slade’s heels dig in against the base of his spine, but there’s no word or sound of displeasure from him, so what he’s doing must be okay so far. The only question is, how long does Slade plan to make it last? Just how full was that bottle of wine when Jason last looked at it? He’d only seen Slade drink the one glass before, but a bottle that size was easily big enough to contain three or four. Not to mention that Slade likes to take his time when drinking, savouring the flavour with every mouthful.

Jason knows that, because this isn’t the first time Slade’s had a mind to test his patience. It is, however, the first time he’s done it in this particular way. Before Jason was always kneeling, eyes open and able to watch Slade as he ignored him. But now...

Two glasses of wine.

His muscles locked, his body unmoving, Jason dares only to flex his fingers to ease the stiffness out of them as the minutes and seconds tick by. But that freedom doesn’t ring true to the rest of his body, and with the blindfold on, Jason suddenly finds himself with a distinct lack of external stimulus to distract himself with.

Ordinarily, such a thing would worry him, because a lack of external distraction often led to an influx of internal thought, except that doesn’t ring true this time. This time, he finds that his world narrows down not to what’s going on inside his own mind, but to what he can feel instead — just as Slade told him it would. The press of feet against his back, the thick carpet supporting his hands and knees. The growing ache in the rest of his joints and muscles as he works to stay completely stationary. Pain, but not like what he would expect from a blade or a fist.

What it is, he realises, is an acute awareness of his own body; every trembling muscle from his wrists to his shoulders, neck, back, and then down to his knees. As time goes on, Jason swears he can even hear the thundering beat of his own heart in his ears; a sound complimented by the slow, heavy rhythm of his breathing.

(And between his legs, there’s the stiff heavy weight of his cock, flushed with heat and arousal that hasn’t gone away despite the lack of direct stimulation to it.)

How long he remains like that, waiting, Jason doesn’t know. Caught up in the wave of feeling from his own body, he completely loses track of time, despite having training to stop exactly this type of scenario from happening. It could minutes, could be hours. All Jason knows is that he’s almost floating by the end of it, sinking deeper down into himself, until — almost out of nowhere — the weight of Slade’s legs suddenly vanishes from his back.

Disorientated, he’s not ready for the foot that pushes against the side of his rib cage, gentle but firm, and after forcing his limbs to to stay locked in the same position for so long, Jason couldn’t fight that push even if he wanted to. He hits the floor, and cries out loud as the blood starts to rush in through his cramped muscles, his arms and legs instinctively trying to curl in on themselves.

Now the pain is sharper. A swarm of stinging bees that delve into the spaces between Jason’s bones as he shakes through it. The sensation is sudden, intense, and leaves him gasping as he tries to flex his hands and feet to work himself through the feeling. “S—Slade, you...”

A low chuckle betrays Slade’s reaction. Then Jason feels one large hand cup the side of his head before Slade’s thumb brushes over his cheek, the motion deceptively tender as it cuts off the rest of the words he meant to say (which is probably a good thing).

“Easy now...” Slade rumbles, his voice far enough away from Jason to indicate that he’s only stretched his arm down to reach him and not actually left the chair. “You did well there, kid. Almost a full hour with no movement. I must say I’m impressed. What about you,” his fingers move to curl beneath Jason’s chin, lifting his head up so that it’s presumably facing him, “do you think that deserves a reward?”

Jason licks his lips, which feel dry and cracked. He’s still not altogether with it, still caught off-guard by Slade’s sudden change of tactics, and because of that, he unthinkingly says, “Y-yes. Yes, sir, please, I—”

It’s the wrong answer.

"And why is that?" Slade asks, setting the wine glass in his other hand down with a clink on the nearby side table. "For doing what you were told to? Is that worth reward, boy? Should I expect you to behave only when you know you're going to be rewarded for it?"

Jason realises what he’s done far too late to save himself. In their game, it’s not his place to determine if and when he’s earned his reward, only Slade’s, and he swallows hard as that hand tightens around in his jaw, followed by its partner settling in his hair. Slade hasn’t given him permission to move otherwise yet, so Jason strains to keep his hands still; a feat roughly equivalent to the climbing of Mount Everest in this moment.

“I—no, I…”

“What’s that?”

Jason breathes in hard through his nose. He wants to see, he wants — but that’s not where they’re at yet. Not unless he wants to end this prematurely. Still, his body might obey, but his tongue soon betrays him again. “Fuck no, Slade… but, you asked, you said I’d—”

“Done a good job?” Slade tutts at him, “I did, and now you’re undoing it. It’s always that mouth of yours getting you into trouble, isn’t it, boy?”

Jason groans as his hair is tugged, a sound that is not entirely one of pain. This time he manages to bite down on any smartass comment. “Yes, sir.”

Slade grunts, “Lucky for you, then, that I can think of much better uses for it. And if you do a good enough job, I may even still reward you later.” He nudges Jason again, this time with his foot. “Get back up on your knees, and put your hands behind your back again. Now.

Jason groans as he forces himself to obey. Muscles still aching, body protesting as he moves his arms behind his back and wraps one hand around its opposing wrist. The position is comfortable in its familiarity, a solid reminder that in restraining himself, this encounter is still in his power to continue or end at any time.

“Sir?” he gulps as he’s guided forwards on his knees, until he feels his shoulders being bracketed in between Slade’s strong thighs. He can’t see his face, but he can only imagine the man is smiling as he strokes his hand back through Jason’s hair.

“You know what to do.”

Chapter Text

The boy hesitates for only a moment after he gives his command. Slade watches intently as Jason’s head moves forwards, teeth seeking out the zipper at the front of his slacks. He’s already done him the favour of popping open the button, and it’s with delicate precision that Jason closes his mouth around the slider, slowly drawing it down as far as it will possibly go before turning his focus to pulling the material open on both sides.

Knowing he can’t be observed doing so, Slade smiles to himself at the sight.

It’s taken time, and a lot of patience, to get Jason to this place of total submission. To the point where a word from Slade can have him on his knees, self-bound and blinded, ready to do whatever he tells him to do. The need had been in the boy from the beginning — he’d seen that the very first time he’d gotten him into this position, back in the old subway tunnel below Gotham three months ago. But coaxing it out to reach this point had been like befriending a feral cat; a slow process, full of trial and error.

Worth it, though, Slade thinks, as Jason licks his lips before nuzzling his face against his crotch, for the sweetness he’d found therein.

Whoever said you can’t mix work and pleasure?

He’s been half-hard since they started the scene, and quickly stiffens further under the wet feel of Jason’s mouth through the fabric of his underwear. Slade hums in appreciation as he reaches down to stroke, then tug at, the thick curls of his hair, softly murmuring, “That’s it,” because he knows when and where Jason needs the encouragement after being so recently scolded, “Good boy.”

His words elicit a shiver, as well as a small sigh as Jason nuzzles at him, following the firm line of Slade’s cock before lifting himself up higher onto his knees, trying to catch the hem of his boxers with his teeth. It’s a valiant effort, and Slade is pleased to see that the boy remembers his order to keep his hands behind his back throughout.

The fifth time Jason tries and fails to get the material down, however, he starts to get a little impatient, and decides he may as well help him out.

“Back,” Slade says, with a tug of his hair, using it in place of the physical leash the boy won’t let him tie around his neck — a shame, he’d look extra pretty like that. But boundaries are boundaries, and pushing too hard now would only ruin everything he’s worked so hard to build at this point. “Remember, if you can’t do something, ask.”

“I could do it.” Jason mumbles, a muted protest as he pushes his head into Slade’s hand, breath hitching a little at the pull. “I could…”

Slade just clucks his tongue disapprovingly. With his free hand he tugs his underwear down, takes his cock out, and gives it a few languid strokes before pulling Jason forward once again. “The night isn’t that long, boy. And there are better uses for your mouth right now than arguing with me.”

Jason’s cheeks flush as red as his blindfold at the reprimand. Slade watches a swallow run the length of his long throat before he’s nodding, “Yes, sir.” and wrapping his lips around Slade’s cock.

Slade bites his lip to hold back an immediate hiss of pleasure. He’s good at this. Slade had worked that out the first time he ordered Jason down onto his knees and slid himself into the boy’s mouth, which was the second time they had sex in the back room of one of Jason’s hideouts, shortly before Slade fucked him over his workbench. Somewhere along the line, back before either the Bat or the Clown got hold of him, Jason had practice getting down on his knees for people. In what exact context, Slade can only take an estimated guess, but still the point remains.

Jason is good at this, and Slade is never going to pass up the opportunity to use his mouth while it’s available to him.

He watches hungrily as the pink tip of the boy’s tongue laps at the head of his cock, tracing the hard ridge around its circumference and then finally the slit of it. Jason’s almost delicate in his motions, taking his time to explore (even though he’s already more than well acquainted at this point) rather than diving straight in — an approach Slade readily appreciates. He lets his fingers linger in Jason’s hair, but only that. He doesn’t pull or guide him here. At least not yet.

Soon, Jason turns his attention from the head to the entire length of his cock. Licking up and down from root to tip; mouthing along the side. He has his head tilted, brow furrowed in concentration; the wrinkle above it just visible over the top of the blindfold. He’s listening for Slade’s reactions to guide him, but Slade pointedly keeps mum despite his very real enjoyment, not allowing even the smallest sigh of pleasure to escape his lips.

The boy has to earn it, every time.

Finally, realising that he’s not going to get a reaction solely from any gentle teasing on this occasion, Jason moves back, licks his lips and — faster than even Slade expects — brings his head forward to take the entirety of his cock into his mouth. Sliding it inch by inch down his throat until the point of his nose comes into contact with Slade’s belly and his throat is fluttering vice tight around him in an effort not to gag.

There’s no way he can breathe like this, jaw stretched wide and almost to breaking point, but Jason holds the position anyway, forcing his throat to relax just a little more with every swallow until his arms and shoulders are shaking from the strain.

Slade licks his lips. The constricting heat of the boy’s throat is exquisite, and the audible breath he lets out in that moment is just as calculated as the gentle way he scratches his fingers against Jason’s scalp.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Good boy. Just like that; don’t forget to breathe.”

Slade tugs on Jason’s hair to better emphasise his point, and at last he pulls back far enough to gasp in a lungful of air. Drool runs down his chin from his lips, which are reddened already despite the fact he’s only been at this a couple minutes; gorgeously rose-coloured, slick and wet with both spit and precum. Jason swallows thickly before going back down on him again.

This time, he doesn’t hold the position, but begins to bob his head back and forth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking wetly as he goes. Slow at first, then faster once he gets the rhythm of it. Sound comes with the action, loud and lewd. Slade allows himself to curl the fingers of his free hand around the arm of his chair, gripping it every time he feels the head of his cock impact the back of Jason’s throat.

God, it feels good. He could come like this easily if he let himself, but there’s more that he wants to do tonight. More use he wants to make of this beautiful, broken boy while he still has the chance. It’s such a pity Slade hadn’t found him first before the Bat did. What he could have made of him. Could still make of him, as a matter of fact, should Jason be amenable once all this is said and done.

It’s a thought he’s had in passing before. Offering to keep the boy with him. But Slade knows better than to say it before the Bat’s dead. The kid hasn’t thought that far ahead yet, and the less cause Slade gives him to consider now what will become of him without that goal in his life the better. It’ll make him all the easier to recruit later on, when he’s feeling lost and hopeless, needing something new to dedicate himself to so he can never truly comprehend what it is he’s done.

With a roll of his hips, Slade thrusts deeper into that willing mouth, now using his hold on Jason’s hair to keep his head still as he uses him. The boy doesn’t cough or splutter at the sudden change, just whimpers in a weak, desperate way that betrays how much he enjoys this. How much he needs to be needed, desired… How easily he’ll roll over for anyone willing to spare him a word of praise or a gentle touch.

“Beautiful,” Slade murmurs, in acknowledgement of that fact, how intoxicating the power of it is, and instantly the whimper is exchanged for a moan in Jason’s throat. “So beautiful, boy. So, ah, good for me, aren’t you? So eager to please.”

He drags Jason’s head forward to meet his next thrust and then holds position, watching as the boy’s skin reddens first with pleased embarrassment, then the renewed strain of not being able to breathe. He doesn’t struggle, though, doesn’t even release his hands from behind his back, just stays still even as the seconds stretch on until over a minute, and Slade hums in pleasure before finally letting him fall back to gasp in desperate lungfuls of air.

“Sir,” Jason chokes eventually, voice hoarse and raw with how bruised the inside of his throat must be, “Slade…”

“Your mouth is sweet, boy, but that’s not how I’m looking to finish tonight.” he tells him, sliding his hand down from the kid’s hair to cup his chin instead. There’s spit running down it, and Slade smirks as he rubs his thumb through the mess. “I want that tight ass of yours instead. What do you think, would you like that?”

Jason inhales sharper, which in turn causes him to cough a little. How sweet, he’s lucky his helmet comes with a voice modulator, so that none of his soldiers will be able to hear how well fucked their master’s throat has been tomorrow. “I… I’d like anything you want to give me, sir.”

It’s a good answer. A clever answer. Much better than the one Jason gave him before when Slade asked if he felt he’d earned a reward for his good behaviour. Just more evidence of how valuable the kid could be if taught right, and not beaten into the ground for a madman’s amusement.

“Anything I want, hm?” Leaning down, Slade treats Jason to a firm kiss as a reward for his answer. He can taste himself on his mouth, which is a flavour he always enjoys on any of his conquests. “Good boy. Then stand up.”

It takes a couple tries for Jason to find his feet again. After so long on his hands and knees earlier, and in recent minutes on his knees only, his joints are bound to be stiff. He also refuses, again to Slade’s pleasure, to release his arms from where he’s restraining them himself behind his back.

That’s another thing Slade enjoys: the way the kid restrains himself. As much as he likes to use cuffs or ropes on his partners when they’re into it, this unique method of Jason’s is so much more fun to play with. Mostly in the way of seeing how far Slade can push him before he loses his control and breaks it without permission, thereby leading to ever more creative games of punishment after.

Once Jason’s on his feet, Slade gives his body an appreciative once over. Those lean, scarred muscles are something only he gets to see, and there’s beauty in the patterns of old pain there. Proof of Jason’s strength by showing all that he’s survived in his still relatively short life.

“Get undressed, pants and underwear both,” he orders, “You can release your hands for it, but put them straight back once you’re done.”

“Yes, sir.”

The speed at which Jason follows this order would betray his eagerness, if his flushed skin and visibly hard cock didn’t already give it away. There’s nothing sensual about the way he undresses — kid isn’t a natural performer, unlike a certain other member of his family — but Slade appreciates the efficiency he uses instead, and how quickly Jason returns to the ready stance he taught him once he’s done. Feet set slightly apart and arms clamped behind his back.

Reaching forward, he sets his hands on Jason’s hips, and needing the lightest touch only, guides the kid forward to straddle his lap.

“S-sir,” Jason stutters, as his thighs are spread wide over his own, and Slade’s cock presses up against his ass. In sharp contrast to the kid, Slade is still almost fully dressed in a shirt and slacks, and he can easily imagine, smirking wickedly the whole time, how the sensation of fabric must feel against Jason’s skin, especially his own by now painfully erect length.

“Don’t worry, kid, I won’t keep you waiting much longer.” Slade assures him, before starting to press light kisses against Jason’s throat. He took the liberty of hiding a small tube of lube down the side of the chair earlier, where it can easily be retrieved without either of them having to move much. “You’re being so very good for me now, after all.”

Jason’s breath hitches at the words as much as the sensation of his lips, and audibly keening, he leans forward into the touch, begging as much with the arch of his body as with his mouth. Which is just fine by Slade, as he coats the fingers of his right hand liberally with the lube and then slides them between the kid’s asscheeks.

He isn’t slow with this part. No more so than it takes to ensure Jason won’t be in a whole mess of pain when Slade fucks him anyway. The kid can take it, Slade knows he can, and he murmurs as such in Jason’s ear as he works first one, then two, then three fingers inside him, watching how easily Jason writhes and moans at every step.

He’s so damn responsive, that’s another thing Slade enjoys about him. The kid’s starved for touch as much as he is every other kind of positive attention, and as a result readily soaks up whatever Slade has to give him like a sponge, no matter how small or insignificant the gesture. It makes him wish he’d fucked the boy for the first time sooner, but never mind. He has him now, and Jason, at least for the moment, isn’t going anywhere.

“Please,” he’s panting into Slade’s ear, “Please, sir, please… I—I want...”

“Yes?” Slade pulls his head back to look Jason in the face, and for a moment regrets his choice to blindfold him. He’d like to see those bright, expressive eyes of his as he begs. “What do you want?”

Jason hesitates, just briefly, obviously trying to sense if there’s another trap here, too, or possibly just wrestling with what’s left of his pride before he goes ahead and blurts it out. “F-for you to fuck me. Fuck, please, I can’t…” he rocks back against Slade’s fingers desperately, “Please, I need it.”

Oh yes, Slade can imagine he does. This scene’s been running for almost an hour and a half now, during which time — except for his fingers in him here — Slade’s barely touched him. It’s tempting to go ahead and mess with Jason a little more just to hear more of that desperation in his voice, but then again, he’s also been well behaved throughout, and Slade did promise not to keep him waiting much longer.

“Well, since you asked so prettily…”

Slade takes his fingers out from his body, for which Jason predictably whines in protest even though he knows he’ll soon be getting something better in their place. An easy lift of the boy’s hips gets him in position, and Slade chuckles throatily at the first soft gasp that falls from Jason’s lips as he first rubs the head of his cock against his entrance, then pushes it inside.

“Think you can ride me, boy?” Slade asks him, his mouth brushing the red silk that covers Jason’s eyes. “Or do you need some help? Answer me honestly, now.”

It takes Jason a moment, as he shakes both above and around Slade. The tight heat of his body grips his cock exquisitely as he thinks it over, then weakly shakes his head. “I… fuck. I’d need… need my hands.”

“Hm,” Slade pretends to consider it, while roving his eye across the bunched muscles of Jason’s shoulders and arms. He’d rather not have the kid losing his balance and falling off him while they’re in the middle of it, and for what he has planned, the more contact they have the better. “I suppose I can allow that. Put them on my shoulders, boy, nowhere else. And I want you to start off nice and slow, understand?”

The hitch in Jason’s breath tells him he’d rather have anything but nice and slow, but that’s not his choice to make and he knows it. He just nods instead, “Yes, sir.” and releases his hands from behind him, wincing as those muscles are allowed to move again finally after long minutes in the same position. They come to rest lightly on Slade’s shoulders at first, then grip tighter into the fabric of his shirt when no reprimand is forthcoming.

“That’s it,” Slade encourages him. “Now move.”

The first roll of Jason’s hips is unsteady as he works his body back into cooperating with him, but soon enough, the motion smooths out with every rise and fall that follows after. Slade allows himself to settle back in his chair to enjoy the show, while also running his hands across the tempting expanse of Jason’s skin. Thighs, hips, waist, chest, back… he makes sure to pay attention to each, including their numerous scars. The only thing he doesn’t touch is Jason’s cock, red and heavy with need as it is.

“Slade,” the boy moans, and when Slade pinches one of his nipples painfully hard in warning: “Sir!”

There’s sweat running down his body, darkening the fabric of the blindfold across his eyes. Leaning in close, Slade licks a bead of it off his neck, then follows the trail upwards to his jaw. It’s easy to bite down on the flesh just beneath it. Easy to suck and worry at it with his teeth, until a large and obvious bruise will undoubtedly form tomorrow.

When the kid goes out to kill the Bat, he’ll do it with Slade’s marks left on his skin and the memory of Slade fucking him lingering in the back of his mind. And maybe the Bat won’t see it through the uniform, but it will still be there. A small, private fuck you to the man who’s been such a giant pain in Slade’s ass the last ten years.

With that in mind, he repeats the process, this time further down the kid’s neck, and lightly slaps Jason on the ass when his movements stutter because of it.

“Sir, please.”

“You like that, kid?” Slade pulls back, licking his lips. “You like it when I mark you up?”

Jason chokes a little, but nods as the red flush on his cheeks deepens, which also has the adverse effect of making the ugly, branded ‘J’ on the left side of his face stand out more. He’s starting to struggle now as he fucks himself on Slade’s cock, thighs visibly straining with the effort to keep the pace slow and steady, and while watching this, Slade gets an idea.

“You want more of it?” he lowers his voice, to something husky and almost tender as he licks his tongue over the bruises he’s already left. “Want me to cover you head to toe in them? I could do that if you want, make sure that the only person you’ll ever feel on your skin again is me. Or maybe you just want me to get on with this, hm? Fuck you harder, let you come?”

Jason’s head turns, his mouth seeking out Slade’s own, but Slade doesn’t allow it to connect. He pulls his head back, before grasping Jason’s chin and forces the kid to look at him despite the blindfold. “Well?”

Jason hisses at the grip, and for a moment, Slade can see his lips start to curl in brief defiance that is quickly sucked back down by the hungry pool of need beneath it. They’re already well past the point where Jason will try to go back to fighting with him; now the kid just wants to be satisfied.

“I don’t… I… all of it, please. Just touch me, sir, please just touch me.”

And that Slade is perfectly able and willing to do.

He tilts Jason’s face up, granting him the kiss he was seeking earlier, But then, in a deviation from anything they’ve done before now, moves his mouth over to his left cheek, pressing another kiss — lighter and more gentle — directly over the brand mark there.

The effect it has on the kid is instantaneous. Jason freezes in place, and for a moment doesn’t even breathe. Not as Slade repeats the kiss, then runs his tongue over the mark, feeling the raised texture of the scar tissue there.

“Slade…” he whispers, voice hushed and fragile, and for once Slade doesn’t tell him off for not calling him ‘sir’. No, he just keeps at it, until he feels Jason start to tremble against him and a sound that’s almost a sob exit his lips. “Please,”

“Tell me again,” Slade rumbles against his skin, as he finally slides one of his hands close to Jason’s cock where it stands red and weeping precum against his stomach, “What you’re going to do tomorrow.”

“W-what?”

The confusion in Jason’s voice is evident, and Slade smirks as he just barely brushes the nail of his thumb against the head of the length at the same time as using his other hand to grip Jason’s hip in a way that stops him from moving, making it clear to the kid he won’t be allowing him to come without an answer. “Tomorrow. Tell me what’s going to happen.”

“I…” Jason gasps, brow crinkling underneath the blindfold. His bangs are virtually glued to his forehead with sweat now, and his lips lovely and raw from both Slade’s kisses and the blowjob. “I’m going to… going to kill him.”

“Kill who?”

“Slade—”

“Kill who?”

“Fuck! I…” Slade thrusts his hips upwards as Jason hisses, “Batman.” beneath his breath like it’s the foulest curse. “I’m going to kill Batman.”

“That’s right.” He smirks again, kissing Jason in reward as well as lightly squeezing his cock. “You are. You’re going to kill him. But before that…”

“Slade, please, I can’t—”

“Before that?”

Jason’s fingers dig harder into his shoulders. “I’m going to make him suffer. Make him hurt. Everything he’s done to me — oh god — he’s going to hurt for it.”

Slade smirks as he wraps his hand more firmly around him, finally giving Jason a fraction of the friction he’s been craving all evening, but more importantly the praise.

“Good boy,” he croons into Jason’s ear as now starts to fuck his cock up into him. “Good, good boy. Do you want your reward now?”

“Yes,” There’s no hesitation in Jason’s voice as he begs, “Please, Slade! Please, I can’t… I can’t take anymore, I need—”

“I know.” Turning his head, Slade licks under the damp edge of the blindfold to hear Jason whimper. “I know exactly what you need. Now hold onto me, we’re going to the floor.”

He does so, moving the grip he has on Slade’s shoulders to around his neck as Slade slides his own hands under Jason’s thighs and lifts him, as easily as he would a feather, from the chair to the floor. In the process his cock slips free of him, but that’s easily rectified the moment they’re settled down, and Jason cries out even louder this time when Slade pushes his way back in. So hard that Slade feels his nails bite into the back of his neck, which is fine by him. He’s always liked a little pain from his partners.

“That’s it, kid,” he purrs, “Give me all you’ve got.”

Slade gives Jason no further warning before beginning to fuck him. Harder and faster than he allowed the boy to do himself. As hard and fast, in fact, as he did back in the tunnel the first time, and it’s worth it for the way Jason comes alive underneath him. The way he arches up and tosses his head back against the carpet, and his fingers drag long scratches down the length of Slade’s back through his shirt while giving a low, keening cry as Slade sucks another bruising mark into the skin of his neck.

Jason’s so damn tight around him. Always is, what with how infrequently they have the opportunity to do this, and while he’d never say it out loud, Slade can at least admit to himself that he’s become greedier for it than he should be. Too greedy perhaps, to pretend that money is and vengeance against the kid’s former mentor are still the only motivators keeping him here.

But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, the only thing that matters is that they both get their rocks off, and Jason goes into tomorrow totally, completely still dedicated to his goal..

Wrapping his hand back around the kid’s cock, Slade roughly squeezes it, and with just a couple of strokes in time with his thrusts inside him, has Jason coming apart beneath him.

It’s a pleasure to watch the way his face contorts at the pleasure in that moment, expression so strained it almost seems to border on agony. The kid yells, too. Screams, actually, and it’s a good thing Slade made sure this apartment building has no other occupants on the floor below them, otherwise they’d probably think someone was being murdered. As it is, he just grins savagely to himself at the wet heat of the come on his fingers and the way Jason’s body tightens up around him, pulling a rumbling growl of enjoyment from his own throat.

He could hold out longer if he wanted to, of course, but there’s no real need. Slade’s achieved his main goal for the evening, and the satisfaction of that is easily enough to tip him over the edge alongside the physical pleasure. He thrusts harder, deeper — as deep into Jason as he can possibly get, then roughly kisses him, ravaging his mouth until the moment is done.

“Slade…” Jason says weakly, limbs loose and weak when, a few seconds later, he starts to pull away.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Slade immediately soothes, reaching up and tugging a hand roughly through his hair. “I’m still here. Now, let me take care of you.”

 


 

The aftercare for Jason is relatively simple compared to some of the other people Slade’s played with in his life. He just wants to be held, wants contact as he comes out of the deep state of surrender he’s fallen into, so that he feels safe while doing it. A slow process when done right, but by this point Slade has become something of an expert.

First things first, he takes the blindfold off. After warning Jason, of course, so that he won’t be unexpectedly blinded by the sudden change in light. Then he lifts the kid up in his arms again, allowing him to nuzzle close while Slade carries him to the bathroom and gets a bath running.

He’s still clinging by the time the tub’s filled, and when Slade finally strips off his shirt, pants and underwear. The hot water does the trick, though, because as soon as they’re settled (Slade stretched out along the length of the bath with Jason laid back against his chest) he shudders faintly, and his eyelids flutter as he shifts his head up to look at him. “Slade…”

Slade hums an acknowledgement. He has one hand resting against the scarred expanse of Jason’s stomach, while the other combs back through his hair. “Still here, kid. You feeling better?”

A brief moment of contemplation precedes a shallow nod. “Yeah,” Jason says roughly, voice rough and ruined just the way Slade knew it would be as he tries to clear his throat. “Yeah, I’m… good. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Slade rubs his fingers in firm circles against his stomach. “Any part of it you want to talk about?”

Kid hadn’t used his safeword throughout. Hadn’t even used the amber warning though he knew it was an option, but still, it doesn’t hurt to be sure. The more Slade knows after each session, the better he knows how far he can push Jason the next time.

Jason thinks the question over for a good minute. “What you did with…” He seems to be struggling to find the words, and Slade is content not to push him. “My scar, you…”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which scar he’s talking about. “Did you like it?”

“Why’d you do it?” Jason asks him instead of answering. His eyes are still hazy beneath the thick, black sweep of his eyelashes, but the way they try to avoid Slade’s gaze now tells him everything he needs to know in regards to why he’s being asked that question.

Slade lets his fingers tug at Jason’s hair now, and immediately the kid’s eyes shutter again, before a soft moan escapes his lips. Not aroused, exactly, but relaxed, showing how close he still is to sinking back into that submissive state he was in.

“You want the honest answer?” Jason gingerly nods. “Because I wanted to. Because it’s a part of you, and I know you hate it, even though you shouldn’t.”

“It’s ugly.” he protests, “That monster—”

Slade tugs his hair again before Jason can tense up, and the way he shudders and melts back against him again just from that tiny gesture alone will never stop being gratifying. “Didn’t stop you. Didn’t kill you. You’re stronger than him, kid. Stronger than either of them, and you needed that reminder tonight, before you go into tomorrow. You survived. You’re a survivor, and when all’s said and done, you’re the one who’s going to be walking away from this, not either of them.”

The clown’s already dead, and soon Wayne will be, too. Just so long as Jason continues to hold true.

“You really believe that?” Jason look is searching, but Slade can hear the desperate tinge of hope in his voice beneath the scepticism, and wastes no time in pouncing on it.

“I know it,” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss to Jason’s brow. “And when the Bat’s body is cooling in the gutter, I’m going to be right there beside you, kid. Basking in your triumph.”

“My triumph.” Jason repeats, almost to himself. Then louder says, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to make him suffer for what he did to me.”

“You are.” Slade smiles savagely against Jason’s forehead, before kissing him again. “But for now, let’s just enjoy the moment. You did good tonight, kid, and you’ve got a big day tomorrow. You need your rest.”

Under any other circumstances, that wouldn’t be enough to get him to settle down, but here, blissfully fucked out to the point where he no longer has the energy to overthink, Jason doesn’t protest. He just tucks his head back down against Slade’s chest and closes his eyes as the hot water laps around his waist, soothing away the aches in his body as much as the sex dealt with those in his mind.

In about five minutes, Slade will get him out of the tub and take him to bed, but for now, he too follows his own advice and just enjoys the moment. The feeling of a young, pretty thing curled up against him, as well as the satisfaction of a job well done.