Slade found Oliver standing in front of a mirror saying things that vaguely sounded like things Slade had said, but bossier and in a growling voice—and Slade could hear him scowling.
“Hoodie, what’re you doing???”
“Nothing,” Oliver hid something behind his back and faced Slade.
“Uh-huh…” Slade didn’t believe him for a second.
Oliver did his best to keep it from him, but Slade plucked it out of his hands.
“Well then…” Slade’s curiosity mutated into a smirk as he looked up at Oliver, who’d broken out into a nervous sweat. “If you’re gonna wear my mask, Ollie, you better model it for me…” Oliver gasped, surprised when Slade reached up to fix it onto him. Slade stepped back to admire him. “Well, now, don’t you look adorable?”
“Deathstroke is not cute.”
Slade chuckled, “Better not let you out in public like this; you’d definitely ruin my reputation.”
“People would be terrified of me!” Oliver puffed out his chest, trying to look as large as possible. Maybe a stranger would cower, but his height advantage and posturing just made him even cuter.
Slade smooched him on the mouth of the mask, his mask. Oliver grumbled indignantly. That just made Slade smooch him again. He couldn’t resist.
Slade clasped his hand, smiling, as he turned towards the door, “Come on, Deathstroke, lunch is ready.”
Oliver thought he was getting one up on Slade by saying, “Alright, Arrow.”
“Well, now, there’s an idea…”