Slade is stupid rich, retired, and bored.
He did the golf thing. It wasn’t his thing.
He did the midlife crisis thing, on purpose, just to see if it was fun. It wasn’t.
He had traveled the world for work, so doing it for fun sounds exhausting.
He’s already fit and maintaining that has been a part of his daily regime since his military days so he doesn’t need to bother with fitness classes.
The only thing he really likes doing lately is sitting in his library, reading. But even that can get monotonous. He needs a challenge, something that get’s his brain working in a new and interesting way.
That’s how he ended up taking classes at Gotham University. Well not really ‘taking’ he doesn’t need credit or anything so he gave the school a large donation and just sits in on the classes that sound interesting. Does the work when he wants or when he thinks it’s useful. He sits in the back corners and most the kids think he’s a researcher or something. He’s made ‘friends’ with the professors who’ve managed to keep his interest; the intelligent ones who give a shit about what they’re teaching.
That’s how he ended up in this Philosophy and Critical Theory: Romantic Period. Frankly he can take or leave Jane Austen and her contemporaries. But the syllabus also mentioned Machiavelli and that’s more Slade’s speed. The professor was also well-respected in the group of faculty to whom Slade sometimes still speaks. They said he was passionate, intelligent, and articulate and really, that’s all Slade wants.
When the guy walks in, though, Slade can immediately think of a few other things he wants.
He’s so distracted by sharp blue eyes behind rimless glasses, soft black hair with a shock of white that looks natural, broad chest tugging just so slightly at the buttons of a pale pink button down, that he almost misses the hint of Bowery accent the boy is trying to hide.
Slade lets his imagination wander to how pretty Professor Todd would look bent over his own desk. And he ends up missing most the class lost in a vivid daydream.
Oh well, Slade thinks, this is about something else now.
He looks up where Todd’s office is on his phone while he waits for the class to end and checks the boy’s schedule.
He’s the first out the door when the hour is up. He makes his way through the musty old halls that could probably do with a renovation. The English department is in one of the first structures on campus, built during the city’s prolonged love-affair with gothic architecture. In a lot of ways, Slade prefers this style to the modern trend towards minimalism; especially in an academic setting. But they could at least get rid of the olive-green colored carpet, an obvious remnant from the seventies.
Slade reaches Todd’s office, finds the perfect spot and takes up position, like a sniper waiting for his target.
He only has to wait a couple minutes before the professor turns the corner and slams into Slade’s chest hard enough to bounce off and start falling.
Slade grabs him by the elbow, catching him before he hits the floor, and pulls him back up. If he puts a little extra force into it so the professor stumbles forward into his arms when he lets go, well, no one else needs to know.
One of Slade’s hands is resting on the boy’s hip and the other gently holding his forearm, ostensibly to steady him, but really to see how the professor responds to the admittedly intimate touch.
When Todd looks up at Slade from behind the glasses Slade hears his breath hitch a little, almost inaudible. But Slade has excellent hearing.
“So—sorry,” Todd stammers and straightens himself in Slade’s grasp, “I, uh, sometimes I don’t watch where I’m going.”
He tries to take a step back but Slade tightens his grip, just enough to stop him and says suggestively, “Don’t worry about it, Professor. I don’t complain when pretty little things fall into my arms.”
The professor blinks at him for a moment before he lets out a bright laugh.
“Not very many people would call me ‘little,’” Todd smiles crookedly, one corner of plush lips pulled up showing a hint of white teeth, “but you’ve got what, four or five Inches on me? I guess everyone’s pretty little to you,” he smirks pointedly before side stepping Slade and unlocking his office.
Yeah, Slade grins to himself, very promising.
“Office hours don’t really start until after class Friday,” the kid says as he enters the room, leaving the door open for Slade, “But I can answer whatever questions you have about the syllabus.
Slade follows him in and looks around. There’s a big curved window behind a too small desk piled high with neat stacks of papers. In front of the desk a small chair for a visitor and to the left is a coffee table and a red velvet lounger that looks somewhere between tacky porno prop and cozy classic, both sagging under the weight of the books on top. This room is a small library, all the wall-space not featuring a window is bookshelf.
Slade’s original plan had been the desk but, even if that wasn’t too small and covered in what looks like meticulously organized research, Slade likes the look of the lounger covered in worn paperbacks a lot better now that he sees what he has to work with.
When he looks back up, Todd is watching him, brows raised slightly and head cocked expectantly.
Slade doesn’t take his gaze from those blue eyes as he closes the door behind him.
“I’m not here about the syllabus,” he says, grin turning predatory as he turns the lock, “I was hoping there was something else you could help me with.”
The professor’s smile fades. His eyes widen and his posture straightens in surprise.
“Uh… you’re not, um, gonna try to kill me somethin’, right?” he says as he takes a step back, accent slipping as he becomes uneasy.
Slade’s sure Todd doesn’t actually think he’s going to kill him, that it’s just the boy’s attempt at humor in a situation that has become uncomfortable.
Slade smiles and moves closer, effortlessly skirting stacks of books, coming up to Todd from the right so that, should this work, he can easily maneuver him where he wants him later.
“Kill you? No. But perhaps a death of a different kind,” Slade says low and lascivious.
It’s not a particularly deep cut but it gets Todd’s attention. His body shifts a little more toward Slade’s approaching bulk and one of the corners of his mouth quirks up. He seems a bit more interested now.
“Elizabethan orgasm euphemisms,” Todd snorts, maybe a tiny bit breathless as Slade draws up to him and fingers the top button of his shirt, still staring into his eyes, “You must be keen.”
Slade’s grin widens. Todd is playing along. So Slade pops the top button open and drops his eyes to the professor’s throat when he swallows hard. He raises his fingers and brushes them over the boy’s Adam’s apple.
“Give me a groan to take off the edge,” Slade purrs, hand sliding to the back of Todd’s neck, fingers gripping onto the short hair at his nape, leans in so his lips brush against the thin, sensitive skin at the corner of the kid’s eye when he rumbles, “I’d ask if I could lie in in your lap but I’d rather have you in mine.”
“Fuck,” Todd breaths and turns to crush their lips together.
Slade tugs on his hair pulling him back before they connect.
“I’ll kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all,” Slade growls. He feels a little silly saying it but the kid shudders again so he’s pretty sure that the point and the quote hit the mark.
Then the professor frowns at him and sighs, “And you came so close to keeping it all in Hamlet.”
“Does the proposition interest you any less because it comes from a different play?” Slade says, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Todd gulps and gives his a small shake of his head, as much as he can with Slade’s hand holding his head where he wants it.
“Good. Then strip,” Slade growls.
He gives the boy a gentle shove back in the direction of the door, and the lounger, then leans his hips against the desk to watch.
Todd’s hands shake a little as he unbuttons his shirt and hangs it on the coat rack by the door. Slade gives a soft snort and Todd mumbles something about having a class later and Slade knows he doesn’t want to wrinkle his clothes. He still thinks it funny when Todd hangs his pants too.
Then the boy flushes, a light pink color that starts in his cheeks and crawls down his neck to his chest, as he pauses before pulling off his boxer-briefs and revealing is half-hard cock.
Slade thinks that’s adorable. The blushing. The cock is impressive.
Despite blushing, Todd doesn’t even move to cover himself. Just stands there, waiting patiently. Maybe looking a little anxious but still interested.
“On the lounger. Hands and knees.”
Todd looks at the piece of furniture and moves to clear the books.
The boy hesitates, looking lovingly at the dozens of creased paperbacks, “But… we’ll ruin them…”
Slade walks over to him and puts a hand on the junction of his neck and shoulder, thumbing the dip between his collarbones.
“Do it anyway,” he hums, “and I’ll make it up to you.”
He still looks uncertain.
Slade presses against him, uses his thumb to push at Todd’s chin until he looks up into Slade’s stony gaze.
“It’ll be worth it. I promise.”
Todd swallows hard and licks his lips. Then moves slowly to crawl on top the books and get situated on his hands and knees.
Slade circles around to get behind him; doesn’t bother to take off his own clothes.
Slade dives right in, spreads the boy’s perfect ass open to have a look at his tight little hole. Todd shivers when the air hits him. Or maybe it’s because Slade’s not doing anything but looking at him.
Finally, after what must have felt longer than the half a minute it actually was, Slade leans forward, hovers close and swipes his tongue across the boy’s rim. He hears a hitched breath from up ahead. The next lick starts as the base of his balls and drags slowly up. When he reaches Todd’s entrance again he dips the tip of his tongue in and then back out quickly, teasingly. That earns him a little whimper.
Slade sucks on his own tongue and the insides of his cheeks, gathering up saliva. When he leans back in he lets it spill over the fluttering hole, getting it sloppy wet, before shoving the liquid in with his tongue in as far as it’ll go.
“Ah!” Todd gasps, “oh god!”
Slade smiles against the boy’s skin. He’s just getting started.
He fucks his tongue in and out of the professor until he’s really trembling; until the pink flush from earlier becomes the kid’s new skin tone and he’s panting out half formed pleas and exclamations on nearly every breath.
Slade reaches between Todd’s legs and grips the heavy, leaking cock swaying there and matches his strokes to the thrusts and swirls of his tongue; occasionally twisting his hand and digging his thumbnail into the slit on the tip.
Todd cries out when he comes all over the books beneath him and slumps forward, his arms giving out.
Slade catches his hips, holding his ass up in the air.
Todd turns his head to the side, nuzzles the velvet for a moment, and then looks back at him.
Neither of them say anything for a moment.
Finally Todd presses his ass back towards Slade in silent permission.
Slade grins, unzips his slacks, pulls himself out, and strokes himself while he reaches the other hand into his back pocket. He takes out his wallet and retrieves the little packets of lube. He rips one open with his teeth and slicks up his cock.
Todd jumps a little when the head of Slade’s dick presses against his entrance, like he’d almost dozed off. Slade spares a moment to rub little soothing circles into Todd’s side. Then pulls the boy back onto his cock, sliding him down in one, slow motion.
Todd inhales sharply at the stretch. Slade probably should have fingered him a little, his tongue’s not even remotely enough preparation for his length and width. The kid is tight, a vice around him, and his dick throbs at the feel.
Still, aside from one or two mildly pained whines, the boy takes him like a champ.
Slade pulls out slowly, leaving just the head, then slowly slides back in. He gives a couple more lazy thrusts before building to a more satisfying, slightly vicious, pace.
The motion has Todd sliding on the books as the ones on top slip on the ones below and they start falling to the ground. When Todd tries to get his arms back under him to steady himself, Slade puts a big, strong hand between his shoulders and holds him down. As a result, the kid’s knee slides off the edge of the lounger and he has to catch himself with his foot on the floor.
The change in angle has him moaning unrestrained and clamping down around Slade.
“Christ,” Slade mutters as he gives one final, rough, thrust in and comes hot and heavy deep inside the professor as the kid’s hole flexes around him, drawing out every last drop.
They stay like that for a moment, until Slade’s gone completely soft. He still hears Todd whimper when he pulls out.
He sees a drop of pearly white sliding down towards Todd’s thigh so he reaches out, drags his thumb up along the trail it left and pushes it back inside the sensitive hole, enjoying the additional whine that gets him.
Finally he lets the kid collapse on top of his books, the ones that are left, and incidentally his own earlier release.
He tucks himself away and stands, looking down at the hard muscles that make up the professor’s back and ass and thighs. Slade didn’t think nerds came built like this.
Slade moves to kneel by Todd’s head where the boy is slowly nuzzling the soft velvet again. He pushes that white streak out of those blue eyes to get his attention.
“Write a list of the books that are ruined. Even if it’s just a scratch you don’t remember being there. Give it to me after class on Friday and I’ll replace them,” Slade says softly.
When he gets no reply he gives a gentle but insistent tug on the hair, “Tell me you heard me.”
“—mmmkay—” Todd breaths lazily.
Slade smirks at him.
Then he smacks the kid’s ass, hard, jolting him out of his afterglow with a yelp, and leaves.
* * *
Jason gives Slade the list after class on Friday.
Then he lets Slade bend him over his desk and fuck him again.
And he knows Slade’s not really a student and that he’s definitely the one with the power in this… whatever this is, but the whole situation makes Jason feel uncomfortable anyway.
On Tuesday, Jason is at home, preoccupied, worrying about what he’s going to do about Slade in class the next day, how he’s going to handle it if Slade comes back for more.
He’s not sure he can say ‘no’ the man.
A knock on the door distracts him from the spiral of his own overthinking.
“Jason Todd?” the delivery guy asks when he opens the door.
“Sign here, please.”
Jason does. He doesn’t remember ordering anything but Alfred still sends him care packages and sometimes Dick sends him boxes of random things from cereal, to gag gifts, to actual thoughtful knickknacks.
He moves some books out of the way and sets the box on his kitchen table.
When he has it open he stares in shock. He removes each item with the utmost care, saving the letter for last, trying to wrap his head around what he’s seeing. When the box is empty and he’s staring at the contents in disbelief he finally opens the note.
Told you it would be worth it. -SW
He runs his fingers down the spines of his new collection of first editions. Many of which are his favorite books.
Suddenly he’s looking forward to the end of class the next day. He’ll have to thank Slade.