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It's satisfying, in the way only a good revenge fucking can be. It has to be; but for the sheer vicious amusement Slade gets from ruining Owlman's favourite pet, there's not much else to enjoy.
Talon is tight, everywhere he grips Slade's cock. He hasn't accommodated to the stretch yet, and Slade can tell by the thin smear of blood slicking his passage that something's torn with the lack of preparation.
He's admirably quiet. Teeth grit in a snarl, only the occasional wince and groan to betray how much it truly hurts to be trapped under Slade's bulk.
He can feel Richard's throat move when he swallows, knocking against Slade's palm where it circles the column of his neck. Holding him in place as he fucks forward with powerful thrusts, jolting the man up the sheets.
He'd fought, initially. Slade has the healing claw marks down his back to prove it. It was the reason he'd flipped the man onto his front, pinned him down and shoved that sneering grin into the sheets. As much as Slade wants to see the humiliation on Talon's face when he ruins him for his master, Slade wants to keep his other eye more.
He'll settle for the hushed moans the man gives him, fury giving way to shame as Slade rides him hard into the mattress.
"That's it," he growls, squeezing down on that brittle throat fast enough to hear the bird choke and hiss. "Get loud for me, little bird. I want your master to hear us."
The thin whine Talon gives him, bitten off before it can become a true wail, tells Slade all he needs to know. He deepens his stance on the bed, slowing his pace to roll into that tight heat, pulling Talon back against his chest when the bird tries to scramble free.
"None of that," Slade growls around a vicious grin, changing the angle of his thrusts as he searches. Talon thrashes, head tossing and nails cutting at Slade's forearm until he clamps down. Holds his bird prone until his frantic movements grow sluggish.
Then he drives hard against that bundle of nerves, enjoying the way Talon twitches with the sensation, eyes rolling from pleasure or suffocation or both.
The breath Richard draws when Slade releases him is desperate, scraped down his windpipe as all of him arches. His exhale is a shout, loud in Slade's ear when he ducks his head to mark up the bird's neck. A collar of bruises is exactly what he needs to get the message across; something to really make the lesson stick, everytime Owlman glances at his prodigal.
Fucking his favourite toy is the fastest way Slade knows to discourage the madman from pursuing Slade further. Maybe seeing his beloved assassin, his prestigious student, dripping with Slade's come will be enough to deter him.
Humiliation is the only thing these psychopaths seem to understand. Defiling his perfect underling will sting Owlman's pride as much as it does Talon's. Two birds, one stone.
He’s not even getting any true carnal satisfaction out of this. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about Owlman’s prized pet, the salacious curves and sultry smiles of his smug little Talon. Hasn’t fantasized over how his thumbprints would look in the dimples of the man’s back, that perfect facade awry.
But Slade’s doing this for a purpose. To teach this Talon and his meddling master exactly what messing with Deathstroke the Terminator earns you.
Beneath him, Talon whines, a hiccuping little noise that sounds like music to Slade’s ears. He reaches down to take a handful of the bird’s hair, arching his head back to expose the little whimpers that are falling from his lips, growing to sobs as Slade fucks into him, pace unceasing.
His breathing is harsh, flinching every time Slade’s hips meet his, pushing him down hard into the sheets on every thrust. Talon folds pliantly, all hints of Owlman’s vicious assassin gone as Slade takes his fill.
It’s satisfying, to watch Talon melt into him, rocking back imperceptibly every time Slade drives into that tight heat. Slade wraps one palm over his hip to pull him into a better arch. The noises Talon is making are high and thin, wrapped around sobs, but Slade knows better.
The way the bird grinds back every time Slade fucks deep is unmistakable, and before long, the mercenary’s touches stray lower, below the hard line of Talon’s stomach. Delighted to find the little bird hard and enjoying himself despite the rough treatment. Slade scoffs; Owlman really knows how to pick them.
Talon jolts when he slides a hand down, startled for a moment before he realises Slade’s intention. He’s not fast enough to block him, a pitiful mewl escaping his lips when Slade takes a firm hold of his weeping cock, working the bird in time with his thrusts.
“Stop, please,” Talon gasps, one clawed hand wrapping over Slade’s wrist. It’s not strong enough to stop him, nails drawing blood as the assassin squirms on his cock. His tears darken the sheets, smeared when Talon tosses his head and cries out. “Please stop.”
Slade doesn’t pause, jerking the man off with quickening strokes. Talon clenches around him, clawing at the sheets as he tries to wrestle free, to no avail.
When he comes, it’s with a shout, tears streaming as he arches, contracting around Slade’s cock hard enough to stutter his pace. Talon spills into the sheets, throat hoarse as he lets out a long, low groan, boneless when Slade’s hands fall to his hips to rock him deeper onto Slade’s member.
He pulls out before he comes, aiming for the perfect curve of the bird’s back when he releases. Ropes of white stripe over Talon’s skin, face burying in the sheets as Slade strokes his cock to completion.
Then he sits back on his heels to survey the mottled mess of bruises littering the bird’s skin, the slow swell of his ribs on every breath as he lies still in the sheets. Marked with Slade’s come and drenched in sweat.
He pauses just long enough to catch his breath, dropping a heavy-palmed slap across Talon’s rear as he turns to slide off the bed. The assassin yelps sharply, claws curling in the sheets as he draws into himself, panting harshly.
Slade tugs on his uniform, buckling armour into place as the little bird stews in his helplessness, a beautiful mess on Slade’s sheets. When all that’s left is his mask, he leans down to take a firm grip of Talon’s jaw, ignoring the hiss the assassin gives him in favour of forcing him into a slow, deep kiss.
He bites the bird’s lip when he withdraws, close enough to feel the hot spiral of breath when Talon exhales and blinks those pretty eyes open. “Give Owlman my regards,” Slade murmurs, waiting just long enough to see the fury crawl across the man’s feature before Slade tosses him back onto the sheets. “See you around, little bird.”
He pulls the mask into place, leaving Talon to curl up tightly on the sheets.
