Chapter Text
The alien woke up six hours ago and stopped struggling after three. Slade finishes reading the paper over breakfast and takes time to shave before he wanders down to the underground bunker to check on his prisoner.
A Kryptonian Containment Unit, even a single person one, was an expense not many could afford, especially on a residential property. It had to be completely shielded from an X-ray vision sweep in case of casual flybys which was a constant drain on power. The government would have never funded it if Slade wasn’t an Achilles among the Metahuman Division. He liked to work from home and victory depended on Slade being kept happy.
As he moves through the layers of protections keeping the alien contained Slade was happy enough to be humming to himself. It feels like years since he was last allowed a prisoner detained at his pleasure. Too many things to do, too many people to kill to take the time taking them apart. He’d even taken a few days of leave to let him savor this. He’d have to thank the General personally next briefing.
The door opens and Slade gets his first look at the alien without a security camera between them.
He has stopped struggling in the chains holding him fixed to the ceiling. He’s naked and the red lights make the mottle of bruises across his shoulders and back look black. The blood still drying around where the Kryptonite had been dug out of his shoulder looks like oil on his pale skin.
The studs of kryptonite on his collar make green lights sparkle across his bare chest. The radioactive rocks are shielded on this side but the press of the raw rock against the prisoner’s skin does more than just neutralize him. It was sapping his strength like a week on a starvation diet.
He was young for a Kryptonian, he’d probably never been under a red sun in his life. His breathing was already labored as he fought against the green rock pumping poison into his veins. At the sound of the door opening he tries to force his head to raise.
“Welcome to pain, son.” Slade says, crouching to be at eye level with the alien. “You’re going to have plenty of time to get properly acquainted.”
Despite the exhaustion the alien raises his head enough to meet his eye.
“Wh…Wh…” He wheezes, trying to form the unfamiliar words as the effort of it makes him gasp for breath.
“I’m Deathstroke of the United Earth Army,” Slade says, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the cell wall. The alien gasps as the wall presses against the collar and rubs the kryptonite shards against the burns they’ve made in his skin. “And you are screwed.”
The alien looks up at him with eyes sparkling a bright blue. You could almost forget how dangerous those pretty eyes could be if the alien regained a solar charge. Kryptonians could kill you with a look, everyone knew that, but the sad little look of a shit-scared cadet trying to hide it isn’t going to stop Slade.
Slade drops him and the chains catch tight around the alien’s shoulders, nearly dislocating them. The alien winces.
“Titanforge steel.” He explains. “Magically enchanted to be unbreakable. You’re three kinds of fucked over right now. No chance of escape.”
He rests a hand on the alien’s head, taking a tight grip on his hair. He pulls it up so the alien is forced to meet his eye again.
“Want to make it four?” He growls.
“Your life is forfeit, by the light of Rao.” The alien croaks, trying not to tremble as he stammers out the rote phrase drilled into him since he was spawned. Slade can see the discipline assert itself in the curve of his shoulders.
Slade snorts.
“Ironic.” He says, gesturing to the red lights. “This is the Light of Rao and it makes your life forfeit.”
The alien’s pretty blue eyes widen and he was right, this one had never lived on Krypton, never known Rao was a red star.
“Rao’s not, he wouldn’t…” He stammers, trying to desperately cling to the scraps of dogma that was all that was left of their sun god.
“Rao’s abandoned you.” Slade says softly. He didn’t care about gods alien or otherwise, but he’d use any tool to break him.
The alien’s eyes flicker, a tiny spark of despair flitting across his face before he tries to look unaffected.
“No-one coming to save you.” Slade says softly, moving his hand down to cup the alien’s face. Such pretty blue eyes, especially when they looked close to tears. “Your unit is dead, their bodies destroyed, no-one even knows you’re alive and if they did?” He leans in closer. “They wouldn’t risk shit for a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, would they?”
“Nightwing would…” The alien tries to argue and Slade’s other hand tightens around his neck.
“Nightwing won’t do more than try avenge your death and you know it.” Slade growls. “Face the facts, you’re dead to them.”
The two leaders of the invasion force had taken the names of Kryptonian gods and were treated by the soldiers as avatars of them, outright worshipped as perfect paragons of virtue. It would be more troublesome if the two weren’t constantly fighting over the best way to win this war. Splitting their forces in two because one would only move in the day and the other in night was another weakness ruthlessly exploited by the Earth army.
At least seeing what ‘god’ the alien invoked in fear told Slade what army he’d belonged to. He can see the Kryptonian was desperately pretending the commanders cared about everyone under their command. Slade didn’t believe in benevolent leaders any more than he believed in benevolent gods.
Slade doubts they even bothered counting individual casualties, it would just be another mark on a map to note a battle lost. What could a single foot soldier be to the Nightwing? Slade doubts he would have as much as glimpsed the edge of the Dark King’s cape in person, probably nothing more than a second-hand hologram in a soldier’s shrine to the war-leader. It was a desperate prayer from one doomed.
Slade had seen plenty of wars before the aliens invaded, and he’d never once seen someone beg for god’s help and receive it. Gods, if they did exist, favored the strong.
“A…Are you going to kill me?” The alien asks in a harsh whisper and Slade hears the tremor of fear under his voice.
His skin was sallow and pale under the red lights, broken out in a cold sweat, while the kryptonite poisoning made his veins darken around the radiation burns the green rock was leaving on his neck. They wouldn’t heal until he got a full solar charge. If Slade wanted him dead all he’d have to do is wait. Radiation sickness wouldn’t kill quickly with how small the rocks in the collar were but after a few weeks without sunlight the Kryptonian’s body would start to dissolve at the cellular level. He’d seen it happen and it was an ugly way to go.
“There are things worse than death.” Slade tells him. The alien slowly swallows past his hand. Slade wonders if he’s heard things about what humans did to aliens. Most of them are true. He’d made sure of it personally.
He presses his thumb to the lock-pad of the cuffs and gets to see the sweet look of surprise in the alien’s face right before Slade’s fist hits him in the jaw. He’s knocked against the walls of the cell, a dribble of the blackish blood showing on his lip and dirtying his teeth. Desperation flashes in his blue eyes before he snarls and swings at Slade.
To call it a fight would be a joke, the alien has never been harmed by anything but his own kind, and he’s weakened besides. Still he puts up enough of a fight to make their equivalent of a drill sergeant proud, even though he knows there’s no way for him to win. This was more than a beating, it was a dismantling and Slade ropes him into struggling just to show how futile struggling was.
With every slam of Slade’s fists into his newly vulnerable body the hope fades from his eyes. Every time Slade knocks him down he sees the struggle in the alien’s eyes as to whether he should get up and keep fighting or stay down and let Slade do what he wants. He makes sure to thoroughly destroy the boy inside and out, until he’s curled into a whimpering defensive ball that could only be tighter if he could fuse his rib-cage with his pelvis.
Slade runs his fingers through the alien’s dark hair, now tacky with the drying blood. The alien trembles under his touch but doesn’t try to move away again. His blue eyes are dead with despair, accepting that whatever was in his future he couldn’t escape it. Beautiful. Slade wipes a trickle of blood from the alien’s lower lip.
“Your life, your death, it is at my pleasure, do you understand?” He quietly tells his prisoner.
There’s a faint pause and the alien slowly nods.
“Get up.” Slade orders, still gently stroking the alien’s hair.
Slowly and painfully the alien uncurls from his ball and forces himself to his feet. Slade can see it in his eyes that he’s expecting to be hit again and has accepted it.
Slade wouldn’t be able to beat any new information out of a prisoner of such low rank. That wasn’t the point. This was purely recreational on Slade’s part, a way to stop himself getting rusty. Sometimes he felt the only pleasure in his life was grounding one of the bastards and seeing that look in their eyes when they realized for the first time they could bleed. It warmed his heart every time.
The Red Secret was that pretty little equalizer keeping Earth in the war, but the alien generals hadn’t seen it fit to inform the common soldiers they had a weakness in case in curbed their enthusiasm to fight. Slade snorts. It was shoddy tactics. Their foot soldiers fell like wheat before a combine harvester to the red solar cannons without ever realizing they were no longer invulnerable.
That was the problem with having your entire surviving population being military. Only the core of the old guard remembered what it was like to be vulnerable. The bulk of the soldiers had been grown after they’d discovered the powers of yellow sunlight. After that the only thing that could touch them had been the shattered remains of their home planet.
Maybe there had once been Kryptonian artists, or poets, or priests. Now there were only soldiers fighting everyone but themselves. It was unsustainable; they had to be constantly invading other planets just to strip-mine the resources needed to keep the fleet operating. A war without end.
It wasn’t hard to see why someone who could fight as good as this one was still at the lowest rank of what was pretty much a caste system. Less hate in his eyes, more fear. Kryptonians bred for absolute obedience and violent xenophobia, he’d probably been teased for his weakness in his pod or whatever Kryptonians spawned from (Slade’s sure they were hatched in units). Things like the ability to feel mercy or question orders were considered massive personality flaws.
“What is your name?” Slade demands.
“I am a soldier in the Army of Darkness, I do not…” The alien starts to recite out of indoctrinated habit, his tone dead of genuine emotion.
“Your name, soldier!” Slade barks in the harsh tones of a drill sergeant and the alien snaps to attention.
“Jay-Sun, sir.” He says.
Humans and Kryptonians look and sound alike, maybe it’s Rao’s idea of a joke. Slade carries himself like an officer and the alien is biologically programmed to obey officers. Everything about that genetic engineering the Kryptonians were so proud of demands the alien follow his orders. It was a manufacturer’s fault he was planning on thoroughly exploiting.
He grabs the alien by the hair again, for Kryptonians it was a thing only done by superiors to inferiors or between lovers. The alien is certainly responding to it.
“I own you, soldier.” Slade whispers in his ear.
“…Sir?” The Kryptonian-accented English makes it sound more like ‘zir’.
The alien’s blue eyes are fixed on him, desperately full of hope he was interpreting the signs correctly. Desperate for any chance for survival.
They hadn’t spared this one on purpose; he’d flinched when the rest of his unit hit the embankment, pulled back and the cannon only winged him. The kryptonite buckshot had still kept him down long enough for a ground unit to collar him and deliver him to Slade’s tender care. A gift from General Lane for the Major’s service. Earth’s metahuman soldiers were the only thing standing between the Kryptonians and complete domination. Being one of them gave him special rank and a special allowance for…indulgences like this.
It had been an interesting fact that Slade had tortured from a higher rank Kryptonian that consent only existed between individuals of the same rank. Otherwise the lower ranks were expected to obey orders from all higher ranks, all orders. Screwing one’s subordinates was simply stress relief for them. For the subordinates it was just part of their duties.
Slade can see it in the faint shiver that runs over the alien’s skin. He’s biologically programmed to obey this stranger with the bearing of a commander. He was a Major, practically a demigod to a Kryptonian, and Jace’s rank couldn’t be lower. He wants to obey. He wants to be a good soldier. He’s already justifying why he must have deserved the pain he was given.
Slade lightly touches his cheek.
“Look me in the eye.” He orders.
“Yes Sir.” The alien says and meets his eye fearlessly.
He rests his hand in the alien’s hair and steps around out of sight of him. He stays looking straight ahead. Slade puts his hands on the alien’s shoulders and feels the muscle tense under his skin. He traces the patches of dark bruising with a fingertip.
“You want to be a good soldier, don’t you?” He asks.
“Yes Sir.” The alien replies.
“You want to obey my orders?” Slade asks.
“…Yes Sir.” The alien near whispers and Slade knows he is his now.
“Good soldier…” Slade says softly and the alien shudders against him.
Oh, someone’s been starved for attention. Getting fucked by a superior officer was an honor for the lower ranked. Probably didn’t think he was pretty enough to reward with attention. Kryptonian command really had no taste.
He strokes up the alien’s neck and tilts his chin up for a kiss. He can nearly taste the boy’s eagerness, but he knows what is expected of him. His mouth is soft and pliant, only kissing back when Slade is outright demanding him to. Complete obedience meant putting your own desires to the side. He wouldn’t do a thing to please himself unless Slade told him too. The alien remains obediently still as Slade gently explores his body with his fingertips, ghosting his fingers over the fresh patches of bruising. He can’t stop himself from reacting when Slade’s hand slips between his legs. Slade feels the alien’s cock twitch under his fingers and the alien gasps out loud. For all their many failings the aliens sure knew how to make them pretty. Was that size standard for foot soldiers or was he just lucky? He runs his fingers over it without a twitch of complaint from his prisoner.
He’d seen plenty of Kryptonians dissected by scientists hunting for whatever it was that gave them their powers. On the outside at least things were the same, but there’s a difference between reading that in a report and feeling the living body in his hands.
He rests a hand against the alien’s throat, directing him back until he hits the cell wall. The alien flinches as the wall presses against his bruises but meets Slade’s eyes while Slade pins him with an arm across his throat. His eyes aren’t exactly fearless, but…accepting. A pawn to a rook. His shoulders are shivering and he is trying not to moan out loud, but his cock is reacting in a reassuringly human way to Slade’s hand.
Slade presses closer to him, until there’s barely an inch between their bodies. He can tell by the trembling of the alien’s body he’s desperate to fuck into his hand but he doesn’t have permission. Slade gets rougher and draws another gasp from the alien’s pale lips.
“Enjoying yourself?” Slade asks as he traces his tongue along the alien’s jugular vein and feels it pulse against his lips.
“Yes Sir.” The alien gasps as his body shakes against the cell wall. “T-Thank you Sir.”
“On your knees, soldier.” Slade orders softly and puts a gentle pressure on the prisoner’s shoulder.
The alien sprawls on his knees, crawling towards him with blue eyes desperate with a wordless plea. Slade reaches down and rests his hand on the boy’s head. The alien shivers briefly with pleasure before falling obediently still under the touch. His breathing is calm and even.
Slade undoes his belt with a click.
“Look at me.” He orders. “And open your mouth.”
The alien meets his eyes and opens wide. Slade hooks a finger in his mouth, exploring with a fingertip and dragging him into position by the cheek. He’s already half-hard as he frees his cock from his underwear.
“Lick.” He orders and the alien nods before leaning forward the last inch between them.
His first lick is hesitant, nervous, as if he’s worried the skin of an alien might be poisonous or make his flesh dissolve. The second is firmer, overcompensation for that first moment of fear as he commits to his duty. The alien does not want to be found lacking in obeying this order. He’s aware his life depends on Slade’s gratitude and Slade can see in his pretty blue eyes that he wants to obey orders.
Kryptonians were like bees, Slade decides, a formidable force against outsiders but once you were in the metaphorical hive they decided you must belong there. Jace wants to have an officer to belong to.
He toys with the alien’s hair as the Kryptonian licks him to full hardness with gratitude, if not real enjoyment. By the time he tilts the alien’s head up to get a better look at him those pretty blue eyes are starting to haze with relief and lust. There had been a moment of deep uncertainty in his alien mind but now he knows his place again, it is serving his officer in any way Slade wishes.
How could Slade refuse what was so willingly offered to him?
Slade runs his thumb along the alien’s jaw as he slowly presses into his mouth. The alien stays completely calm and still, with no tension in his jaw as Slade’s cock dips down his throat. His mouth is as soft and pliant as it has been during their kiss. Beautiful. Slade wasn’t sure if the prisoner had entirely given up on fighting him, but he couldn’t bite off anything that wouldn’t grow back.
The alien’s tongue cradles him, blue eyes still staring up at him with gratitude when Slade thrusts in. His prisoner remains completely still, without any of the flinches of fear a human would have from deepthroating their captor. Slade could choke him to death and the alien would just accept it. He strokes his fingertips across when the alien’s cheeks bulge around his erection.
Slade thought he’d die before he’d let a Kryptonian’s teeth near his cock but the alien’s letting him fuck his mouth without breaking eye contact. His chest rises and falls with the fight to draw breath past the kryptonite exhaustion and the aches of his beating but the alien doesn’t try and pull away. The alien’s erection is still pressing rock hard against his own stomach but he makes no motion to relieve himself. Everything he is exists for Slade’s pleasure. Slade doesn’t last as long as he planned to. He was going to draw this out, to torture the boy with it, and get his prisoner used to being used as a toy for as long he wanted, but that was unnecessary. The Kryptonian’s body was already a perfect fuck toy.
A final hard thrust has him spilling his seed down the alien’s throat with a harsh cry. The alien swallows and carefully licks him clean before drawing his head back. The pretty blue eyes are still fixed on him, even as his lips are swelling from the fucking.
“There’s a good soldier.” Slade says and rests his hand on the alien’s head.
The alien’s got his head slightly bowed, calmly waiting for his next order even though he’s still rock hard. Damn, it normally took him months to get a boy that well trained.
“I’m giving you permission. Get yourself off, soldier.” Slade gives the order.
“Sir?” The alien asks, his voice honest-to-God trembling at questioning the order. Right, a Kryptonian officer couldn’t care less about their subordinate’s pleasure. The entire species really was fucked in the head.
“Masturbate for me.” Slade orders, making eye contact this time.
“Yes sir.” The alien actually seems relieved to get the order and Slade can’t deny he likes the view when the boy spreads his legs.
That was a cock too good to go to waste, and the hesitant way he was touching himself made it an even sweeter show. The alien’s pretty eyes slide shut as he takes a firmer grip and moans, then he recalls his previous orders and meets Slade’s eye again.
He keeps eye contact as he strokes along his length, panting as he gets bolder and his strokes get rougher. He writhes against the wall, hips shallowly bucking up against his hand as he keeps his legs spread wide enough for Slade to get a good show. His neck twists with a few sharp pumps, nearly breaking eye contact before he forces himself back into line. It’s almost amusing seeing decades old military training going into keeping his back straight while he pleasures himself for an officer.
His breath hisses from between his tightly clenched teeth and Slade realizes he’s instinctively trying to keep himself from making too much noise. It would be frustrating if it wasn’t so adorable to watch.
“You can moan, soldier.” He growls.
“Yes…sir!” The alien pants. “Thank…you sir!”
He rocks his hips and a desperate moan leaves his lips. Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac for both their species it seems. He can see the relief etched on the alien’s face that he can obey, he can survive. His desperate fingers wring desperate whimpers and gasps from him as he focuses on showing what he’s worth. His cock is already leaking and Slade in watching curiously, wondering what a Kryptonian orgasm looked like.
The alien meets his gaze steadily, the lust in them matching the hunger in Slade’s gaze. His blue eyes are desperate and when the alien’s breath shutters his hand slips off his shaft for a heartbeat. He groans sharply, his thighs quiver and his hips futilely twitching forwards at the loss of friction. He bites his already bleeding lip, the oil-black blood running down his chin. Slade realizes he’s waiting for an order.
“Cum.” Slade orders and gets his answer near immediately as with a last shuddering gasp the alien finally breaks eye contact.
His eyes squeeze tightly shut on genetic programming older and deeper than his programming to obey orders. A deep groan leaves his chest and his entire body shivers as fluid bursts over his fist. He slowly strokes through his orgasm, and a few pink pearly drops drip to join the blood on the floor. His breath rasps in his chest, his shoulders heaving at the struggle to breathe past the kryptonite poisoning. He manages to force his head back up, looking up at Slade with one eye half closed. There’s an apology in his expression.
“At ease.” Slade tells him and the prisoner gratefully lets himself slump against the cell wall, panting more loudly as he fights for breath.
Part of the weakness of those that had never lived under the red sun was the toxic remnants of their homeworld hurt them more, their cells were adapted to hold more energy which meant their bodies failed faster when that energy was sapped. The collar was killing him.
Slade strokes his fingers through the alien’s feather soft hair, watching his prisoner fighting for breath, and an incoming message pings on his headset. Slade softly sighs, he’d prefer not to talk to the General right now but at least he hadn’t called earlier. It wouldn’t have stopped him enjoying his prize, he would have happily conversed with the General while fucking his prisoner’s mouth, but he would have enjoyed it less. Now he answers the call with one hand while he uses the other to wipe a drip of the alien’s blood from his bottom lip.
“Good evening General.” He says and the alien briefly stirs, recognizes he’s not being addressed and slumps back down. Slade runs an approving eye down his bare body, still shivering from the aftermath of stimulation. In his experience there were few things more intense than the sex you had thinking you were going to die soon. “Thank you for the prisoner. I am learning…a lot.”
He combs his fingers through the alien’s hair, dragging his nails against the scalp and watching the alien shudder.
“Anything about the attack fleet?” The General asks. Most of the time Slade got along with his commanding officer. The General understood the need for efficiency over ceremony and Slade respected him for it. It made the little moments like this feel more like rewards for his service than bribes to keep him fighting.
“Nothing yet Sir.” Slade says as he toys with a strand of the alien’s dark hair.
He doubts that a soldier of this rank knows anything of strategic value. He’d probably never even seen Earth’s surface until the attack. Still, if he did know anything Slade would be sure to extract it.
“And their weaknesses?” The voice of General Lane asks through the headset.
Scratches behind the ears apparently, Slade thinks as he finds a spot that makes the alien curl into his touch with a soft gasp thankfully too faint to be picked up by the microphone. Those pretty blue eyes are happily closed and if the alien's drive to obey wasn’t stronger he’d be nuzzling into the touch like a cat. Slade guesses he was unfavored even within his unit if he’s so desperate to prove himself.
“Still working on it.” Slade says out loud, knowing he could be discussing how he was going to kill him and the alien wouldn’t mind. He simply chose not to hear conversations of the higher ranked.
“You have a week Slade, then I need you back on Active Duty.” The General growls.
“Understood.” Slade replies and cuts the call.
At the very least he should have the rest of the day to enjoy his new project.
After the end of the week he could probably keep the collar for when he needed to be punished. The solar lamps and the chains should be enough to keep him restrained while his owner was working.
Perhaps after another year Slade might even let him get some sun.
It would be on a strict ration, he couldn’t let the alien get spoiled and ruin his conditioning. It shouldn’t be too hard to get some stronger kryptonite, make a collar with a switch to keep the alien under control. He’s not going to let him regain his powers without a kill switch, he’d seen too many super soldier projects make that particular mistake.
If he had his way (and he knows he will) the alien would never see another battlefield. Wintergreen had been hinting he wanted some help around the house and maybe if he provided an outlet Rose would stop bringing strange boys back to the house. Then, if everything went well, he might take the boy with him on some missions, use him as a bodyguard, a bullet shield and stress relief on long missions. It wouldn’t be anything he wasn’t programmed for; the alien would probably be grateful to be able serve his commander personally.
Torture and interrogation was somewhat of a hobby of his, there was a deep enjoyment that came from finding out how far he could twist something until it broke. Could he twist Jay far enough to be an asset not an enemy to them? He can't wait to find out.