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It would be so much easier if it were Deathstroke and Nightwing; the degree of separation, of persona, would make it easier to bear. But that would be too telling. Uniforms paired with revealed skin and video evidence would be a security liability for anyone, hero or villain. The footage is very distinctly Dick Grayson on his knees, gurgling desperately around Slade Wilson’s cock like he has no choice but to choke.
Each of the three camera angles capturing the shocking scene is horrible in its own unique way.
The camera behind Dick shows the scene in full. The broad expanse of his naked back, stark in contrast to Slade’s fully clothed form; the way he shudders when Slade pulls his hair, like he’s caught somewhere between enjoying himself and wanting to pull away; his shoulders shifting with the movement of his arms, blocked from view by his head. Slade looks like he just got in from a business meeting, all starched collar and pressed slacks, and the clear power imbalance couldn’t be more unsettling.
From above is the worst in terms of sheer obscenity. Slade’s cock is proportional to the man himself, and as hard as Dick shoves himself forward he can’t seem to manage getting it all down his throat. The fingers of Dick’s right hand, wrapped around what he can’t fit in his mouth, don’t quite meet around Slade’s girth. Everything is slick with Dick’s spit to a nearly disgusting degree despite the loud slurping noises he makes as he tries to keep himself in check, and his drool is so thick it’s almost mucous as it bubbles out of his mouth and slides down Slade’s cock. All that’s really visible of Dick is the crooked line of his nose, a little off from one too many breaks, and the riot of black that makes up his knotted hair and wet lashes.
The side angle allows the viewers to see how drool is flowing freely down Dick’s chin, his eyes closed against reflexive tears. He has his free hand curled around Slade’s hip, actively encouraging the mercenary forward each time he slides down his cock. Despite his circumstance Dick looks nearly serene, his expression similar to the one he wears when practicing meditation techniques.
Slade is cradling the back of Dick’s skull, fingers knotted in his hair, and suddenly he uses his grip to push Dick forward until he’s retching and swatting at Slade’s hips in a feeble attempt to get him to ease off. Ignoring Dick’s hands, Slade comments, “There. You can take it all,” as he forces Dick’s nose flat against his stomach with a final shove. He doesn’t even fuck Dick’s face, just chokes him down until his now wide-open eyes are bulging.
The most astonishing part isn’t Slade’s brutal treatment of Dick; anyone with two brain cells to rub together could probably make an educated guess and say that Slade Wilson wouldn’t be the most considerate lover. Dick making no real move to fight Slade off despite over a decade’s worth of defensive and offensive martial knowledge that should enable him to break free easily is far harder to comprehend. Though he writhes a little and slaps at Slade’s hips weakly, it seems far more like weathering the storm and halfhearted chastisement than any real desire to stop. The viewers must draw the logical conclusion: Dick has to be allowing this, or it would never have gotten as far as it has.
Eventually Slade seems to tire of Dick’s thrashing, and he pulls the hero off by his hair. A terrible noise escapes Dick’s mouth as Slade draws back, the wet suction of his abused throat protesting the sudden change.
Dick coughs and hacks uncontrollably, but Slade barely gives him time to heave in a single breath before he slides his cock back into Dick’s mouth and fucks his face remorselessly. The tears that have been welling behind Dick’s lashes finally escape his eyes, trailing down his cheeks to join the slick mess of spit across the bottom half of his face as his chest heaves with gags on each one of Slade’s brutal thrusts.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of Slade’s hands knotted in Dick’s hair, Slade’s cock forcing its way into into Dick’s mouth, and Dick’s nose jamming repeatedly into Slade’s grey pubes, Dick breaks Slade’s hold on him and scrambles back. His palms skid across the carpeted floor until his head slams into the foot of the bed frame behind him — the camera behind him must be fastened to the headboard, because the video from that angle jolts — and he comes to a halt with a nearly terrified look up at Slade.
Slade scoffs and closes the small gap between them with a single stride. One of the views of Dick moves with him, and the viewers realise that the camera angle from above must somehow be attached to Slade — the eye patch.
“Come on, Grayson, put a little effort in. You want those codes, don’t you?” Slade taunts, slapping his wet cock against Dick’s face. “Weapons like that, in the wrong hands… someone might come along with a better offer than yours. And it’s honestly not in my best interests to hand stuff like this over to the damned Justice League…”
Dick looks up at Slade reproachfully, his eyes still watery and his chin still slick with spit.
“It’s just business, kid.” Slade shrugs, brushing his fingers through Dick’s hair with surprising gentleness. “A deal’s a deal. You give me something, I give you something.”
“What more do you want?” Dick croaks. His eyes look even shinier than they were just a moment ago as he gazes up at Slade, but it could be a trick of the light.
“What are you willing to give?” Slade counters with a smirk, the camera behind Dick catching the mean glint in his eye in perfect resolution.
“Anything.”
Slade’s smirk morphs into an all-out grin. “Careful, kid. Someone might think you want this.”
“Looking a gift horse in the mouth, Slade? How very unlike you,” Dick shoots back, his voice rough from Slade’s harsh treatment of his throat. Annoyance has clearly overtaken desperation in the fight between warring emotions in his head. “You want me, and I’m saying you can have me. Just let me breathe, okay?”
“Not like I haven’t had you before,” Slade drawls, ignoring Dick’s plea and unaffected by his annoyance. “You know that I could have you again if I wanted to.” Slade’s grin grows again as Dick fails to suppress a shudder, and he lowers his voice to a murmur as he deliberately drags his cock along Dick’s cheek and purrs, “I could have you whenever I like, however I like, pretty bird. You don’t have a say in that.”
“I won’t fight you this time, though. I’ll do whatever you say, for as long as you like,” Dick offers, desperation creeping back into his tone as he gazes up at Slade in supplication. He turns his head and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Slade’s cock. “All night, if that’s what it takes. Please, Slade.”
Slade hums, pleased. “I’m just screwing with you, kid. You’ve already had my cock in your mouth. It wouldn’t be very professional of me to back out of the deal when you’ve already given me part of the payment,” he explains, slowly as though he thinks Dick isn’t smart enough to understand. In his current state he might not be; he did seem to be legitimately panicked about the possibility of Slade backing out of whatever deal they brokered that ended up with him on his knees. “I just wanted to hear you beg.”
Dick keeps his mouth shut, but his gaze turns into a glare.
“Open up again, kid,” Slade demands. “Get me off first, then we can get started on that anything you mentioned.”
Dick’s eyes fall shut on a slow, deliberate blink, and his mouth falls open.
Seconds drag out into hours as Slade slides his cock back into Dick’s open mouth at a leisurely pace, then everything seems to fast forward. Slade resumes his relentless face-fucking, this time more shallowly so that Dick can almost breathe as Slade’s hands cradle his head gently to pull him into every thrust. Slade even uses his thumbs to wipe away Dick’s reflexive tears every once in a while.
The easy obedience of Dick’s closed eyes and lax jaw as he goes where Slade drags him must do it for Slade, because it feels like mere moments later he’s grunting, “You’d better swallow, kid,” and shoving himself all the way into Dick’s throat one final time.
Dick retches a little around the intrusion, but when Slade pulls his cock out none of his come follows it.
“Well done, kid,” Slade compliments, idly wiping his wet cock across a dry patch of Dick’s cheek. “You’ve gotten better.”
Nodding his head in a little bow, Dick drawls a sarcastic, “You caught me at a bad time last time.”
Slade hums his acknowledgment. “You had beginner’s luck on your side.”
“Funny, I don’t remember being all that lucky,” Dick shoots back. “I remember you choking me out with your cock then waking up screaming when you shoved it in my ass.”
“I can make this good for you, little bird, but I can’t do anything for you if you decide to have a pity party,” Slade snaps, grabbing Dick’s face with one huge hand. “Reminiscing is fine by me, but I can guarantee you I’m gonna have a lot more fun than you are if that’s what we’re doing tonight.”
Dick rips his face out of Slade’s grip then wipes the drool from his chin with the back of one hand. “Fine,” he spits. “But I’m meant to be making it good for you — why should you care how I feel about that?”
“Why, indeed,” Slade muses with a smile. “Maybe I just wanna try something new.” When Dick’s only response is to glare down at his own bruised knees, Slade orders, “On the bed, kid. On your hands and knees. And get rid of that attitude while you’re at it.”
Dick scrambles to obey Slade’s orders. He kneels there for a long moment, clearly on edge as he waits for Slade to join him, unaware of Slade stripping behind him.
He twitches when Slade climbs onto the bed behind him, startled by the bed dipping unexpectedly.
“Hold yourself open for me,” Slade commands, untangling Dick’s hands from where they’re fisted in the sheets. The view from above makes it clear that he deliberately leans forward to see an embarrassed flush spread across Dick’s face at his words when he adds, “I bet you’ve still got a gorgeous asshole, kid.”
“You’re a creep,” Dick mumbles as he follows Slade’s latest order, shoulders and chest pressing into the mattress to hold up the weight of his upper body. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Is little birdie embarrassed by his pretty hole?” Slade mocks, rubbing at Dick’s asshole with slick fingers.
Dick yelps, then asks, “Where’d the lube come from?” sounding legitimately curious.
“Pocket,” Slade explains, still rubbing at Dick’s hole without putting anything inside him. “Be prepared and all that.”
“Get on with it, Slade,” Dick hisses eventually, after an interminable moment of writhing in place.
Slade grins down at Dick, though Dick can’t see it. “If you insist,” he drawls, and shoves two fingers into Dick with no preamble.
“Ah! Hey!”
“You asked for it, pretty bird,” Slade coos, smacking the back of Dick’s thigh hard enough to elicit a yelp. He adds, “You’re asking for it all the time, really,” in a growl.
“Please, Slade,” Dick pants as Slade’s fingers continue their assault, slow and steady.
“Please what?” Slade asks, sounding amused as he works his fingers inside Dick with purpose.
Dick manages to hold back his noises and stop himself from doing anything more drastic than squirming and twitching for a very long time. It could be hours later when he gasps as a third finger slides into him. “Please,” he reiterates in a groan. “Slade, come on.” He jolts away from the fingers in his ass, his body seemingly out of his own control. “Stop it, I don’t want to— I don’t matter, this is about y—”
Slade must do something unfortunately pleasant with his fingers, because Dick’s words cut off with a mewl and he turns his face into the sheets to muffle himself. “I told you I could make it good for you. Besides, I get to do whatever I want to you. That’s the deal,” Slade chastises, not letting up. “But I’m more than willing to take requests as long as they’re polite. So,” he slides his pinkie finger into Dick, ignoring the strained noise Dick makes into the mattress, and orders, “beg.”
Dick hesitates visibly for a moment, then lifts his head and braces himself like he always does before a performance. Though strikingly realistic, it is very clear to anyone who knows him that the wanton, “Please fuck me, Slade, please,” that leaves his lips in a pleading whine is entirely an act. “I want to feel you, please, fuck me now. I’m ready.”
Slade grunts, then removes his fingers from Dick with surprising care. “That was almost convincing, pretty bird. So close to convincing, in fact, that I’ll pretend it was real as long as you do.” He pats one of Dick’s asscheeks almost fondly, uncaring of the lube still slicking his fingers, then brings his hand to his own cock and spreads what little is left of the lube along his length.
“Come on, kid, you can let go now,” he goads, shuffling in behind Dick on his knees and eyeing his stretched hole hungrily.
Folding his newly freed arms underneath his head, Dick buries his face in the crook of his elbow as Slade lines up. All that’s visible of his head from all three angles is the bird’s nest of his hair, tangled from Slade’s careless fingers, so it’s impossible to judge his emotions as the mercenary pushes forward. The helpless sound he makes paired with the way he reflexively shies away when the head of Slade’s cock starts to breach him makes it clear that whatever he’s feeling isn’t enthusiasm.
“Don’t start running from this dick now,” Slade grumbles, sounding more amused than annoyed. “Little late for that.”
Dick’s face turns to the side, freeing him to hiss in a lungful of air as Slade finally slides home. “Mmmyeah,” he mutters in weak encouragement, brows furrowing in what might be discomfort.
“Feel good?” Slade demands, pulling back out slowly only to slam back in.
Dick whimpers, high and warbling, his face pressed into the mattress as his hands slide through the sheets in search of stability. He turns his head to peer over his shoulder, and the look on his face from both the side view and from Slade’s perspective is terrifying; the kind of gritted teeth and drawn brows grimace that bad porn sometimes tries to sell as pleasure but looks more like agony. It only gets worse when his mouth drops open and his eyebrows furrow further in response to Slade driving into him second time. He looks like he’s screaming, but no sound leaves his mouth.
“Want me to fuck you like that, huh?” Slade asks, his tone that of a man having the time of his life. His enormous hands seem like they’re wrapping nearly all the way around Dick’s waist, pulling Dick back into every brutal thrust. He starts fucking Dick so hard and fast that the slap of skin on skin sounds like someone being spanked repeatedly.
Dick yelps out a shocked, “Ow! Ah!” before he manages to quell his noises to something a little like a drawn-out hum, trying to adapt to Slade’s cruel rhythm.
Slade actually does spank Dick this time, stopping dead to watch his asscheek jiggle. Eye still focussed on Dick’s rear, he orders, “Back it up.”
Going stock still, Dick peers over his shoulder with wary eyes.
“Put some effort in, kid, damn.” Slade spanks him again. “Maybe you want your brains fucked out, but that would be me doing you a favour. We’re not at that stage of the deal yet, are we now?”
Dick shuffles his knees through the sheets a little before pushing back on Slade’s cock, slow and shaky. “Is that—” he grits out, stopping for a moment to bite his lip as Slade bottoms out again. “Is that okay?”
“Little faster, pretty bird. You can do it,” Slade encourages, watching as Dick forces himself back and forth on his cock with increasing speed “Get comfortable, that’s it. You’re doing so well.” He gives a pleased laugh when his praise wrings a legitimate groan out of Dick. Catching on, he continues with, “So good for me, kid. Just like that. Back it up, there you go. Right there.”
Dick is panting now, and it doesn’t seem to be because of agony; Slade clearly wasn’t lying when he insisted that he could make Dick enjoy it.
Then, of course, Slade has to go and ruin any illusion of okay present in this situation. He hisses, “Goddamn, kid, you’ve gotten better since you were seventeen,” throwing his head back and grunting as Dick keeps fucking himself on his cock. “Not that the little panties pushed to the side didn’t do it for me, but I swear your your ass has gotten even tighter. Fuck.”
“That’d be weird, since back then I was terrified and uncomfortable and— ah! —improperly prepped. Shoulda been as tight as I’d ever be,” Dick murmurs, clearly struggling against his own body as it tells him he’s experiencing pleasure where his mind knows there should be nothing but pain. “And I was—” he cuts himself off with a groan as he pushes back on Slade’s cock again, clearly getting an angle that works really well for him by complete accident. “Was eight — ah — teen.”
“Really?” Slade asks, sounding bored. “Thought you were seventeen.”
“Noohhh,” Dick whines as Slade meets him with a thrust this time. “No. Was eighteen when you first went up against th— uh! The Teen Titans. When you— when you—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a bad man.” Slade chuckles, wrapping his hands around the thinnest point of Dick’s waist and pulling him back into every steady thrust again. “But I guess I’m a better man than I thought I was if you were really an adult,” he muses. After a few more moments of fucking Dick in near silence, nothing but the slap of their bodies and Dick’s intermittent mewling to break the standstill, Slade observes, “You really have gotten better, kid. So perfect for me. All this fat ass and a tight little hole…”
“What is it with people and my butt?” Dick asks, but it comes out as a whine as struggles against his pants and moans.
“It’s a nice butt,” Slade insists, giving it a smack without pausing his thrusts. Seemingly worried the other cheek might feel left out, he spanks the other one too.
“Slade,” Dick mewls, knuckles white where he’s fisting the sheets. “I’m gonna— I could—”
“Without being touched, pretty bird?” Slade asks, sounding impressed. “Feel free, if you really can. I’d love to see you. But of course you can, you’re perfect. So good at everything you set your mind to. Makes sense that it’d apply to this, too. Such a good little fuckhole.”
“Slade, yes,” Dick hisses. “Tell me I— just keep going. Tell me I’m good, I’ll be good. Please, I’ve been good. I’ve been good, right?” He’s practically sobbing into the sheets, and whatever’s going on in his mind can’t possibly be good.
“You’re so good, kid. So annoyingly brave and talented. Someone should tell you that more often,” Slade grunts. “You’ve been such a good boy tonight, and I know it was hard for you. You made the right choice, you’re doing the right thing.”
Dick throws his head back and his mouth opens on a quiet, “Ah,” as his body seizes up.
Slade’s eye is wide, and the mercenary actually looks surprised. “You’re a fucking marvel, boy wonder,” he hisses, then promptly shuts up to focus on fucking Dick through his orgasm.
Dick twitches, his whole body convulsing as he keens. His ass clenches rhythmically around Slade’s cock, and the mercenary watches, rapt, as Dick’s tremors make his ass shake. When he goes still, he tries to pull off of Slade’s cock.
Slade stops him with a bruising grip on one asscheek before he can make it anywhere. He doesn’t even say anything, just pulls Dick back by his ass, setting a steady pace. When Dick makes a confused noise, Slade chuckles, dark and deep, and growls, “Greedy boy. You didn’t think I’d let you stop before I was finished, did you?”
Not even bothering to fight this new twist despite the clear exhaustion on his face, Dick goes where he’s directed as Slade wraps an arm around his waist and drags him back.
“You’ve been so lazy, letting me do all the work when you’re meant to be doing me a favour,” Slade accuses, settling on the mattress with Dick in his lap. He barely gives Dick any support, just rests a guiding hand on Dick’s ass as the hero rocks his hips lethargically. “It’s okay, kid. I know you get stupid for a good fuck. Love that about you.”
Dick hums out an appreciative, “Mmm,” when Slade’s hand draws back only to swing down and slap his ass, but even without the context of what has come before it sounds like performance rather than pleasure.
Luckily Slade’s endurance seems to have been tested by the show that was Dick Grayson coming untouched on his cock, so it only takes a few moments of Dick pushing himself up and down with shaking thighs before Slade his biting into his shoulder and coming for the second time.
Slade lets Dick pull off this time, too satisfied by his own orgasm to protest. Dick crawls away and collapses back into the pillows at the head of the bed, his come-streaked chest and stomach the only parts of him visible from the headboard cam. His chest heaves as he catches his breath.
It seems like only a few seconds of respite before the eyepatch cam is moving again and the headboard angle shows Slade shuffling over Dick’s body on his knees. His face gets so close to Dick’s that the only part of him that’s visible from that camera is his dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks. The headboard view of his heaving chest is obscured by Slade’s massive form above him. The side view, however, shows Slade pinning Dick’s wrists to the pillows on either side of his head and leaning in to capture his lips in a kiss that looks more like devouring than anything affectionate.
Dick lies still beneath Slade, even as the mercenary ruts his cock — which is, incredibly, still hard — against Dick’s hipbone.
Eventually Slade tires of humping Dick like a dog in heat and draws back, licking his lips. Dick pays him no mind even as he shuffles further up Dick’s chest; his closed eyes don’t let him see the way Slade has taken his own cock in hand and started jacking it slowly.
Dick looks practically asleep, clearly exhausted by everything his body and mind have just gone through. His head lolls sideways against the pillows. When Slade’s weight settles on his chest he only whines, making no move to open his eyes or react in any physical way.
“One more, pretty bird,” Slade assures Dick, his free hand nudging Dick’s cheek until he looks up at Slade while the other keeps pumping his own cock so fast it’s nearly a blur. “Just one more.”
Dick’s unfocussed eyes nearly cross so that he can look at Slade’s cock right in front of his face, and it only adds to how dazed he looks. He barely seems to have the presence of mind to open his mouth, panting so hard his chest heaves as he sticks his tongue out.
“Mmm, ever the giver, Grayson,” Slade hums, obligingly sticking his thumb into Dick’s waiting mouth. “But I don’t need you for that right now. Just lie right there and look pretty.”
Eyes wide, Dick’s weak gaze slides up to Slade’s face. The look of stunned confusion the wide-eyed expression creates makes him look horrifyingly young; Dick may be a fully grown man, but the sharp relief of what’s being done to him against the childlike fear of the unknown in his eyes is jarring and disgusting.
It’s unclear how long it goes on for. It could be minutes, it could be hours. It finally comes to an end when Dick flinches as Slade comes all over his face with a guttural grunt.
Slade laughs, the cruel sound sharp against the even wheeze of Dick’s breathing, slapping his cock against Dick’s flushed cheek. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he asks, smug. “I’m gonna get you the codes your daddy and his hero friends need so desperately — surely generosity like that deserves thanks.”
Eyes falling shut, Dick murmurs a nearly reverent, “Thank you,” that cracks on its way out of his mouth. As Slade chuckles, a twisted kind of fondness in his tone, Dick tongues at his wet bottom lip. It isn’t clear whether he manages to clean Slade’s semen off his lips entirely, however, because in that instant all three video feeds stop abruptly.
The frame from above freezes on Dick’s come-splattered flushed face, furrowed brows, and shining pink tongue. From the side Slade looms over his destroyed quarry, his kneel over Dick’s chest still keeping his prey pinned as he looks down at Dick with a smile. The camera angle from the headboard captures nothing but Slade’s gargantuan cock, still just as hard as he was at the beginning of the video, showing no signs of flagging.
Ollie is the first to break the silence. “If— if Deathstroke shows up in Star,” he starts, face pale as he shoots Bruce a sidelong glance, “he’s dead.” He carefully avoids looking back at the screen before him.
“I’ll canary cry him myself,” Dinah agrees, cracking her knuckles. “I can’t believe I ever worked with that bastard…”
“We shouldn’t have even opened this,” Hal mutters, gesturing at the screen with one hand as the other covers his eyes. “God, that was— holy shit. Why did we think an incoming file from Deathstroke would be in any way helpful? We should have scanned it first or something. I mean— please tell me we have software that could have flagged that as… as… what it was. We didn’t need to watch it to know that was what it was, right?”
“Deathstroke just helped us with that extraterrestrial arms trafficking case, Hal. It could have been a follow-up. This was no one’s fault,” Dinah insists. “We did what we all thought was best with the information we had. We couldn’t have known.”
“Well congrats to us for exceptional guesswork, it was a damn follow-up,” Hal hisses, shooting a look at the frozen frames of Dick on the wall in front of him before grimacing and looking away once more. He adds, “No wonder he agreed to get us the codes,” in a mumble.
“Hal, shut up,” Ollie whispers frantically, swatting at Hal’s arm. “Bruce?”
Bruce remains silent.
“Nightwing is a respected hero and friend. I am sure any one of my sisters would be honoured to be tasked with vengeance on his behalf,” Diana offers, laying a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I would be honoured if you gave us the permission to begin a manhunt. Nowhere in the world shall be safe for Deathstroke the Terminator until he draws his last breath.”
“The Lanterns would be more than willing to get in on it, too,” Hal assures Bruce. “Everyone else is off-world right now, but we can call them back easily, an—”
Clark, who has been completely quiet since the video started, finally breaks his silence with, “No need.” He has an unfamiliar steely glint in his eyes. “I was just listening for Deathstroke. He’s in Blüdhaven right now. I can go right away, B, and have him in maybe a minute.”
“So close to Nightwing?” Dinah whispers in horror.
Everyone is silent for a long moment.
“No killing,” Bruce croaks at length, barely loud enough to be anything more than a mumble to himself. He’s addressing the rest of the Justice League; so what if they’re not the only ones who have to be reminded?