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Slade looks around the dark circular room, trying to make out faces despite the dimness.
It doesn’t do any good. Even with his enhancements, he can’t see anything. He knows there are plush leather sofas and armchairs grouped together in semi-private chunks surrounding the slightly raised platform in the center.
He leans back against the heavy, black velvet curtain hiding the cinder block wall of the warehouse this little event is being held in, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He has a nice view in his spot next to the runway leading to the stage.
And he wouldn’t miss this one for all the money in the world.
“How’d you manage it anyway?” Cobblepot asks from his elbow, sounding vaguely awed. “One is hard enough, but you caught both.”
Slade hums. Like he’d willingly give anyone any extra information on his methods. “Easier than you’d think.”
Penguin squawks and, as usual in his dealings with the crime lord, Slade has to force himself not to punch him in the throat when he makes that noise.
“If you say so. Enjoy the evening. Your drinks are on the house.”
Slade will almost certainly enjoy the evening, but he has no intention of touching Cobblepot’s watered down booze.
He’ll celebrate his double—triple really, by the time the evening is over—victory when he leaves here with his prizes.
There isn’t much other than the main event. This is a special gathering, unscheduled, even though you wouldn’t know it to look at the crowd of silhouettes packed into every seat.
Gotham’s underbelly showed up in full force. Slade wouldn’t be surprised to learn that every villain with a bone to pick with the Bat and his birds has managed to get a representative here.
There is a wave of excited murmurs when the curtains to Slade’s left pull open and the big ticket item stumbles down the path to the platform.
They’re linked together by chains between the cuffs on their wrists and the collars on their necks. Both boys are pretty banged up, suits torn and skin bruised, a bit bloody. Nightwing is in rougher shape physically. The new-ish Robin is good but he’s still young and lacks the same experience, especially with Slade that Grayson has. They’ve been dancing for years. They know each other.
However the kid is the one worse for wear. Both are drugged out of their minds. Slade wasn’t taking any stupid risks. Bat’s are slippery little shits.
Nightwing, though dragging his feet and moving sluggishly at the insistent tug of his leash, is moving relatively well.
But he’s practically dragging Robin by their connected restraints as the kid is all but collapsing on every other step. Even as Nightwing turns around to try to help him.
Slade considers the thought that maybe he misjudged the dosage but quickly dismisses it. Those are the kind of mistakes Deathstroke doesn’t make. He gave the brat the right amount for his size and accounting for Bats’ training in resistance.
It’s more likely the kid got a little feisty backstage and had to be given a second helping.
Grayson holds his successor close when the bidding starts, both arms wrapped around the younger boy who is only able to hold himself up by clinging to Nightwing for support.
The size difference is greater than Slade would have expected. The second Robin is small for how old he’s supposed to be and Grayson may not be the tallest man in the world but he’s not short and he’s never been able to hide the ripple of muscle, even in his civvies.
Bids fly out faster than Cobblepot can count. The price soars even though putting a value on something like the two bat-brats is impossible. To Slade’s mind, no number anyone could pay would be sufficient.
He smirks as familiar voices ring through the darkness, one standing out above the rest.
When it’s over, Cobblepot offers the winner Slade’s assistance in getting the boys home safely. On the house, of course.
Slade is happy he’s wearing his mask so that it hides his amusement as Billy agrees, getting Slade paid for accompanying his own winnings back to his own home.
Grayson grumbles something incoherent when the needle for another, calculated dose of sedatives is pressed into Robin’s neck. But soon they’re both passed out.
It wouldn’t do for them to see what airport they leave from.
When they wake, it happens slowly.
It’s night and overcast outside. Even if all the blinds on the private plane windows weren’t pulled closed, they wouldn’t have any way to know where they were going.
He’ll knock them out again a while before they land. They won’t know where or when they left Gotham, or which direction they went, or how long they were traveling. They won’t know where they land or how long it takes to get to Slade’s residence.
But he doesn’t really want to wait all those hours to play with his new toys when they’re right there , already stripped to their underwear (or in Robin’s case, his… “shorts”).
They have the time afterall.
As expected, Grayson comes to first. He’s groggy and moving slowly still but he works moisture into his mouth until he can speak. When he does, it’s slurred but understandable.
“Slade.” Slade loves the way Grayson says his name. Like it’s a curse. He can’t wait to hear it screamed.
The kid blinks up at him, shifts to sit up a little straighter, movements slow and languid. “What’d’you do?”
“Cobblepot put a price on the Bat’s brats,” Slade answers truthfully. No point in lying. “I took the job and delivered you to him. Then he sold you—”
“Win’ergreen,” the kid grumbles.
Slade grins. “Yes. And now Cobblepot is paying me to deliver you to myself. Damn generous of him. Means I got the two of you on sale.”
Grayson looks the direction Slade nods his head, just in time to catch Robin stirring.
The older Bat hurriedly (as much as he’s able, anyway) shuffles closer to the younger one, gently taking the kid’s face in his bound hands, fussing over Robin as he wakes up a little more.
But not as much as he should.
“It’s ok, Little Wing,” Grayson murmurs when the boy groans. “You’re alright, ok? Just breathe for me.”
Slade watches them for a couple moments. The way the older one pets and frets over the younger. It’s definitely giving him ideas .
“Why can’t the kid hold his sedatives?” Slade asks finally, genuinely curious. Dick was never that messed up for that long. “Thought tolerance was part of the tiny terror curriculum.”
Grayson manages a pretty impressive glare for the state he’s in before he goes back to caring for the kid.
“ ‘s mom od’d,” Dick tries to snap but can’t quite reach the heat he wants. “B ‘dn’t wanna riskit yet.”
Slade hums. That means he’s given Robin two incorrectly calibrated doses. It shouldn’t hurt him. It’ll just make him…
Really easy to control.
Smirking, Slade slides off his own sofa, grips Grayson’s neck and pulls him off the kid.
Dick’s eyes do a decent job of following his every move as he kneels down and brushes the curly fringe out of listless blue eyes.
They’re lighter than Grayson’s deep navy, little oceans that are easy to drown in. Robin’s are more of a… robin’s egg blue; unfocused, lids dragging slowly, heavily, over them.
“Hey there kid,” Slade rumbles.
“Slade—”
“Shut up, Grayson,” he orders without taking his eyes off the boy. This one’s been Robin for about three years. Slade really should have made the effort to meet him sooner.
He gently strokes his fingers through the tangled mess of curls, appreciating the way the kid leans into it. “You got a name?”
A pink tongue crawls out to lick cracked lips and Slade can’t help the hunger sparked by following the path it takes. He’s going to have to hurry this up.
“Ja—”
“Robin, don’t,” Grayson interjects.
Jay doesn’t quite snap his mouth shut but his eyes roll over to his predecessor and he swallows before letting his head fall back to the seat of the couch.
Slade allows it for now. He’ll get the kid’s full name soon enough. Instead, he turns his attention to the older prize.
“I told you to shut up,” Slade growls. “There is no grace period. You know me well enough to know how I operate. Disobedience will not be tolerated.”
Grayson snorts. “Do your worst, asshole.”
Watching concern bloom across that pretty face is a treat. Because Grayson does know him.
“See here’s the thing, Grayson,” Slade purrs like a cat with the mouse in its sights as he moves forward, lifting Jay from his position curled on the seat so that he can take it, then moving the boy into his lap. “I know you as well as you know me. If you do something foolish, Jay here will pay the price. I imagine that will work both ways, you Bats are painfully self-sacrificing. But I’m also not worried about being able to manage a 90lb. brat, no matter how much training he’s had.”
He shifts the bird in his lap so that his bony knees stretch wide so that he’s straddling Slade’s waist. Then he reaches up, twists a fist in that thick hair and jerks back.
Jay makes a pitiful, choked off sound as he’s pulled into a painful looking arch. Slade feels his hands, bound behind his back, scrape weakly at his thighs.
Grayson moves forward like he’s going to try to intervene but he’s too slow and weak still. Slade raises the finger of his free hand, stopping him in his tracks.
“Careful,” he says, tugging harder on the hair in his fist and moving his hand to stroke up the kid’s skinny torso to toy with his nipples. “You’ve already brought one punishment down on him. You want to add to it.”
Dick’s expression would be murderous if he weren’t still feeling those sedatives.
Keeping one eye on the elder bat, Slade leans in to nip and suck at the length of smooth, exposed throat.
Then, without warning, he flips the kid onto his belly, bent over Slade’s knees. The poor thing can’t do anything more than groan, limbs reacting sluggishly.
Slade grabs the binding between the boy’s wrists with one hand and rubs the other over those stupid scaly, green panties. His hand is so big and the kid so small that his palm easily spans the entire width of his backside.
He leaves the garment. He definitely wants it there for the next stage. And Slade is strong enough that the flimsy fabric doesn’t matter.
The strike sounds like a shot in the small cabin of the plane. So does the cry of pain it punches out of the kid.
He lands two more hits, hard and bruising enough to make a kid who spends his nights getting punched by adults start to tear up (even if he is drugged to hell), pausing between to knead the plump flesh, fingers dipping beneath bands farther and farther, before Dick makes another move.
“Alright Slade, please. I get it. Please stop. I… I won’t be a problem. Promise.”
Slade searches his face, hand idly playing with Jay’s ass. He cops a feel between the kid’s legs, cupping and squeezing at his cock and balls until he gasps and rocks forward in a weak attempt to get away.
Grayson is sincere.
But he’s also far too lucid now.
Slade takes a tablet from his pocket and holds it out for Dick to take.
“Wh-what is it?”
“Does it matter?”
He tightens his grip between Jay’s legs until the boy whimpers.
The pill disappears faster than the Flash.
“It’s just going to make you feel drunk,” Slade offers, pulling the younger boy back upright.
He waits patiently, pinching and tugging and the rosy little buds of Jay’s nipples, turning the boy’s face to his own and indulging in that cute mouth, playing with the lazy tongue he finds, for the few minutes it takes for Dick to blink quickly and sway.
Finally, he takes a bottle from the side table, and starts maneuvering them all where he wants them.
Dick leans back against the armrest on the far side and Slade lifts the little one onto his knees, facing Grayson, while Slade himself settles in behind him.
“He’s going to need you to hold him up, Grayson,” Slade says before letting go of the boy’s bindings.
Even drunk and drugged Dick catches Jay before he topples, face first, into Dick’s crotch.
Slade doesn’t bother waiting. His fingers are slicked up with lube, thumb of his left hand holding the green Robin shorts and asscheek aside (he admires the way it digs into the flesh) while he circles two fingers around the puckered hole.
It twitches, winking at him with every stroke, and he wants to be buried deep inside that tight clutch more than almost anything.
He doesn’t bother to start with one. Robin can take it. So he presses two fingers in, slowly, enjoying the way the boy clenches around him, trying to keep him out, and the choking gasps that make the floppy bits of Grayson’s hair flutter.
“ nngh-ah! ” the kid moans on a particularly rough thrust to his prostate that rocks him against Grayson’s chest. “D-Dick?” he slurs like he’s just realizing the older boy is there.
“’m ‘ere, Li’l Wing,” Dick mumbles, leaning in to touch their foreheads together. “’m sorry. ’m so sorry.”
Slade is distracted, watching three fingers get swallowed with increasing ease as the boy’s hole loosens and starts sucking at the intrusion. He pulls his fingers apart, stares at the stretch, shoves them deeper and the kid moans.
It makes Slade smirk. Grayson is probably going to be difficult to break but this one is young enough that it shouldn’t take much to train him into the slut he’s obviously so desperate to be.
The brief exchange between his two prizes does get through his lust though.
“Why don’t you kiss and make up,” he growls to Grayson.
Dick’s pretty out of it again but he still tries. “Slade—”
In a blink, Slade has pulled his fingers out and slapped Jay’s ass so hard it leaves an instant bruise.
Grayson shushes the boy’s shout, trying to comfort him.
Then, squeezing his eyes closed and taking a steadying breath, he tilts Robin’s face up and presses their lips together.
It doesn’t take any more encouragement for the boys to deepen the kiss and before he knows it they’re full on making out.
Must have tapped into some unspoken desire between them.
Cute.
He pulls Jay off Dick with a tug on his hair. With his eyes stuck on Dick’s, he nibbles on the shell of Jay’s ear before growling low, “Why don’t you give your big brother a taste of how you think about him when you’re alone?”
Grayson groans as Slade nudges Jay into his lap.
His soft, breathy, “Needs more prep” is not the protest Slade expected but it is a pleasant surprise.
So is the fact that the older boy is hard when Slade reaches into his briefs, and bigger than he imagined.
“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Slade purrs. He pulls the shorts aside again, spreads Jay wide and lines him up over Dick’s cock before slowly lowering him onto it. “This is still part of your punishment, Grayson. Though I realize now that it’s not quite the chastising I intended it to be.”
Slade leans back a little to watch Robin’s hole stretch wide for Nightwing’s cock.
For the first few minutes, Jay whines and grunts in pain as Dick obviously can’t help losing himself to the tight, velvet heat of his successor's passage and starts thrusting up into him earnestly. The tears in the younger boy’s eyes seem to elicit tears from the older one.
Slade can’t say he minds. They’re pretty flushed pink and glistening in sweat, Grayson’s hands, still bound in front of him, cup Jay’s face again and pull him into a sweet, reassuring kiss. Jay’s hands, still bound behind him, keep tugging at the restraints, trying to get free.
Again, it doesn’t take any extra prodding for them to get lost in each other.
The cries of pain soon turn to breathy gasps and desperate moans. And even though they stay attached at the lips, Grayson’s hands move to Jay’s hips to try to get better leverage.
It’s better than he imagined when he captured them.
He has to stop Grayson from reaching for Jay’s cock.
“It’s a punishment,” he reminds them both, even though he thinks Jay is still too gone to really be all that aware. “The kid doesn’t come.”
They almost don’t even seem to hear him. Neither acknowledge the words. Dick just puts his hands back on Jay’s waist and keeps going.
Slade waits until Grayson’s pace turns choppy; until he gives a half dozen final hard thrust and groans before stilling.
Then, before he can pull out, Slade layers himself over the both of them.
Jay’s body collapses under the weight and Grayson grunts with the kid drops onto his chest.
White oozes out of Jay’s hole, puffy and reddened from use, around the soft length still inside him.
Slade licks his lips, gives himself a couple slow jerks with a freshly lubed hand, and then presses his own cock to that cute little opening.
“W-wait…” This time the protest comes from Robin. He nuzzles his face against Dick’s chest before resting his cheek against the bared muscle and trying to look back at Slade. “T-too much…”
Snorting, Slade ignores him. Grips his shoulder to keep him in place as he hooks a finger past the kid’s rim and tugs up enough to allow the head of his prick to pop in.
Jay chokes and tries to wriggle away but Slade’s hold pins him where he is.
Slade doesn’t take it easy. He fucks the kid like he’s always dreamed of fucking Grayson, the same way he will fuck Grayson. Vicious and relentless. Pounding into the soft body with the intent to bruise and no care for anything but his own pleasure.
The soft sobs of over-stimulation and gentle coos of comfort spur him on. The feel of Grayson’s soft cock starting to harden again makes him chuckle.
A flash of scaly green catches his eye and Slade groans. He shifts up so he can get a better angle, putting his weight on Robin’s shoulder and driving down into that taut heat.
Jay’s hole clenches on every thrust like the kid thinks it will stop him. But all it does is make his body a perfect vice.
Grayson’s cock is back to full hardness and his hips start moving in aborted little pumps, obviously against his will. But the drugs have weakened his resistance and it’s not long before he’s fucking the kid again with full force.
The quiet sobbing is now punctuated with pleading little ‘no’s barely loud enough to hear over the wet slap of skin against skin, heavy breathing, and blissful moans.
Grayson comes a second time with a shout and a bunch of kisses pressed to the sweat-damp hair on Jay’s head.
Slade can feel the release further ease the way for the final jerks of his own hips. He spills his seed as deep in the kid as he can get. Pausing to let them both feel it
He pulls back to look at where they’re all connected. Translucent white drips down both his and Dick’s cocks.
Slade grins when his twitches with renewed interest mere moments after finishing.
He rolls his hips forward and pulls back slowly. Then does it again.
And again.
Jay’s voice is quiet and broken when he rasps, “No—”
Grayson whines and it looks like it takes immense effort for him to open his eyes to look up and meet Slade's.
“Please. Slade—”
“Benefits of the enhancements, kid. Better get used to it.”