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pretty little bird

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Slade looks at the little bird in front of him, letting out a mean laugh as a naked Tim Drake attempts to twist out of the chains that he’s put him in. The smell of a terrified omega in heat hits him, and he can’t help the smirk that crosses his face.

“Tell me,” he says. “Does big brother know that you left the nest?”

“Please don’t do this,” the kid whispers. “Please, I won’t say anything about this to Nightwing if you let me go.”

Slade raises an eyebrow and taps the video camera he has set up. “What makes you think I don’t want him to know about this?” He leans in close to Drake’s face, and looks right into his dark blue eyes, the tears already flowing out of him. “I want him to witness how much I’m going to ruin you.”

That pulls a whimper out of the brat, who turns away from the camera to look up at the ceiling. That’s fine. He’s a pretty kid. He looks good from all angles.

Slade just makes sure the camera is steady before he steps away, and looks at the omega before him. Smooth pale skin, tight muscles, long black hair, slick slowly appearing on those pale thighs thanks to the heat that he’s going into, the delightful heat that had hit him in the middle of their fight, giving Slade just enough of an opening to defeat the pretty Robin and drag him away.

He hadn’t known that this one was an omega.

He wondered if anyone else does.

Doesn’t matter. After tonight, Dick Grayson at the very least is going to know what he is, and Slade knows that vigilante is an alpha. He reeks too strongly of it, and Slade hates it.

He rests a hand on the small boy's thighs, who tries to jerk away from the grip, but he can't. Slade has him far too trussed up to move. Chains link his wrists to the headboard, his legs to the bedpost. The slick is starting to slide out of him faster, thick and clear.

Poor little birdie is really starting to cry now, thick tears sliding down his cheeks as he tries to deny his biology, his innermost need to submit to an alpha.

Slade cocks his head, unsure of how exactly he wants to fuck this boy. He can tell the kid's a virgin, it's clear as day on his face and his body, at his pure fear of Slade's touch. You only have fear like this if it's the first time you've been touched. He doubts the kid has even touched himself.

Does he want to introduce him to his tongue first? His fingers? Or maybe a nice toy?

Or maybe, Slade wants the first thing to be inside this kid's body is his cock. Fuck him and knot him and cum in him until Slade has his fill, and then drop him off at Grayson's apartment or precient or that fucking Tower, see what he did to his Robin, his legacy.

Yeah.

That's exactly what he wants to do.

He smiles, and grips Drake's thighs. Pulls them down on the bed and the kid lets out a small cry at how that jars his wrists. His legs are bent, knees sticking up in the air, and they're pulled apart even as he tries to press them together to refuse Slade entrance into that tight body.

He's not going to let that stand in his way. The kid's got absolutely nothing on Slade, and he's able to stare at the tight, twitching hole that's leaking slick and absolutely begging to be fucked.

He has to oblige it.

He unbuttons his pants, and takes out his cock, which Slade has always been very pleased isn’t small in the least. He's hard as a fucking rock, and Tim Drake lets out a half-scream and renews his fight to get out of his grip. But the kid has no such luck. Slade just keeps his legs apart, and fits himself in the gap so the head of his cock is pressing against the entrance of Drake's body. The omega's eyes are almost rolled back in his head, his face the picture of anguish, and he's shaking in Slade's grip, tense as can be. It'd be easier if Slade took his fingers and spent some time loosening him up, but that wouldn't be as satisfying. What is satisfying to moving his hands to Drake's hips and pulling the boy down on his cock.

The minute he breeches him, the boy starts to scream, high and piercing. Slade just laughs, and moves one of his hands to cup Drake's jaw and turns his head towards the camera. He leans over as he pushes in, inch by inch in that agonizingly tight heat. "Say hi to your big brother," he whispers. "Tell him how glad you are that he can watch this very special moment for you."

Drake just closes his eyes and shakes his head. "No," he moans, the word falling into a sob as Slade pushes in those final few inches so that he's fully inside the Robin. "I'm sorry," he whispers, and it's all Slade can do not to laugh. This brat apologizing to Nightwing? It's going to take a lot more than an 'I'm sorry,' to ever make up for the shame he's putting on the older man's legacy.

Slade moves the hand that's on the jaw to Drake's hair, knotting his fingers in the strands and wrenching Drake's head back, forcing the boy to open his eyes. "That's not going to cut it, you little slut." He looks towards the camera himself, and smiles as dangerously as he can. "Tell me, Grayson, how upset are you that you can't be the first one to fuck this tight little ass?" He turns that smile onto Drake’s face. "Gotta say, it's quite an honor to ruin this brat.”

Drake is shaking his head, whimpering as Slade's thrusts grow rougher as the boy becomes looser. He has to mention that fact.

"You know how good this feels? How much he takes to being fucked? You're missing out, Grayson, if you don't use this ass first thing as soon as I bring him home." He laughs. “Though it sure as hell won’t be tight.” He thrusts hard to punctuate that. “I’m taking care of that.”

Drake shakes his heads at Slade's words. All he does is whisper, "I'm sorry," again, his voice broken and watery as he stares at some point above the mercenary. Slade can't help but roll his eyes. Kid's acting like he never thought this would happen to him, like he doesn’t know how good he looks and smells.

Slade just moves his hand from the kid's hair to his hips, tilting them so he can drive even deeper into the body beneath him. Drake just tries to hide his face in his arm, but the sobs escaping the kid tells Slade everything he needs to know.

He's absolutely hating this, and Slade grins.

He forces Drake in two as he leans over him to unlock the chains, and then flips the kid over before he can even blink, driving his face into the hard mattress as Slade presses himself down on Drake's back, thrusting roughly into him.

He buries his face in the side of Drake's neck, taking a deep breath to take in that beautiful, fertile scent. His hands are still on Drake's hips, and the boy isn't even fighting him. Both of his arms are underneath him, and it looks like he's actually trying to suffocate himself in the mattress.

Pathetic.

Slade bares his teeth and bites down hard. He wants Drake to know exactly how Slade sees him, that all he is to every alpha is a hole to fuck and a thing to dominate.

Like this, blood pooling on his tongue, it doesn't take long for Slade to finish before he feels his knot swell as he starts to come. The brat's crying, and Slade kisses his neck, then his cheek, and then forces Drake to turn his head so Slade can press his mouth on his lips, forcing the kid's mouth open so Slade can slither his tongue in. It's not erotic, but Slade doesn't want it to be. What he wants is for Drake, and for Grayson, to remember this for the rest of their lives.

He takes a deep breath when he pulls back and rolls over to his side, looping an arm around a sobbing and hyperventilating Drake’s chest to keep him close to Slade.

He’ll return him to Grayson in the morning, but right now he wants to keep this pretty little bird.