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Red Hood knows he has a stalker.
It doesn't come as a surprise to Slade. Though most fail to realize Deathstroke the Terminator is actively following them — keeping tab on their actions and schedules, mentally preparing the perfect time to strike — it was rarely the case for bats.
Something about all of them being stalkers themselves, something about all of them stalking each other for more or less good reasons, something about the main bat's supernatural ability to know when he is being followed that trickled down to his wards.
So when Red Hood's steps falter for half a second and his helmet tilts to the side almost imperceptibly, Slade knows Red Hood knows.
He doesn't confront him about it though. Probably because he is used to being followed, either by other bats or by competition. Instead he goes on with his night, patrols around the area, stops by what looks to be some gang hideout to bark a few orders, brings some food to the prostitutes at the corner, kills a few traffickers, does some detective work for whichever case he is currently dealing with.
A standard night for a vigilante disguising as a villain.
Red Hood only bothers to do something about his stalker in the wee hours of the night. Guess he wants to go home and would rather not be followed, uh. It becomes slightly harder to follow him, he turns sharply around corners of dark alleys and cuts through buildings whenever he can, his patterns are all over the place and he sometimes backtracks without reason. It would probably be enough to lose anybody else, but certainly not Deathstroke.
Still, Slade lets him have this one. He's not interested in making Red Hood run around for too long, it might attract other bats, which would mess with Slade's plans completely.
So he waits a few hours, and then starts stalking Red Hood again.
Or rather, Jason Todd.
Once he shook his stalker off, he went back home, removed all his gear, and went back to being the not-so-dead estranged son of Bruce Wayne.
Currently, he is asleep in his bed, still half dressed as if he couldn't be bothered to do much more than remove the less flexible parts of his armor before collapsing.
Slade stays around for less than an hour and leaves.
Not the right time.
Too easy.
It lasts about a week, Slade stalking the young man while he is aware of his presence, only leaving to let him go rest before inevitably coming back.
The kid gets more and more irritated by it. He loses sleep. He attempts to find his stalker after a couple days, without results. Once he shouts in an empty alley for the "asshole shadowing him to just come fight him already". Slade doesn't.
He waits, bides his time, lets Red Hood tire himself and vibrate with anticipation.
And finally he strikes.
Red Hood swirls around on instinct, guns in hands and ready to blaze before he could really see his opponent, but Slade ducks below his line of fire to tackle him against the closest wall. The air gets punched out of Red Hood's lungs in a gasp as his armor makes a dangerous cracking sound from the strength of the impact.
It doesn't stop him from retaliating though. While Slade focuses on the more pressing matter of disarming Red Hood, the kid plants both feet against his thigh and hips and pushes with his whole strength. It isn't enough to get Slade completely off of him, but there is now enough distance between them that Red Hood can punch Slade in the throat.
Slade laughs darkly through the pain of his abused throat. It makes Red Hood pause.
"Slade? What the-?"
He doesn't let the kid finish, uses his confusion to grab his arms and spin him around and towards the ground. His helmet cracks against the concrete, dazing Red Hood just long enough for Slade to bring both wrists behind his back in an unforgiving twist while he settles himself down on the back of Red Hood's laps.
Slade massages his own throat with his free hand. Kid didn't miss him. Were he a normal human, he would've collapsed on the spot and would be choking to death right now.
Christ, he loves when they put up a fight.
"Slade, what the fuck?" Red Hood groans below him. He's already testing how much movement Slade's hold allows him. The answer is barely any. Especially when Slade presses slightly on both wrists and his back, prompting a choked out exhale from the kid.
"I expected more fight from you, kid. I'm almost disappointed."
He isn't, the fight had been short but Red Hood had been more than efficient. But his words have the intended effect, Red Hood freezes below him and relaxes. Deceptively. The calm before the storm. Calculating an angle to weasel his way out of Slade's hold.
"What're you playing at, asshole?" the kid growls dangerously. Slade tilts his head, gauging him, and chuckles again.
"I still don't see you fighting back."
Slade trails one hand down the kid's side down to his hips. It's mostly armor, a shame, but the feel softens when he reaches the boy's pants. There is no armor when he takes one asscheek in hand and squeezes. A perfect mix between delightfully toned and soft.
Red Hood's voice modulator crackles to life, though his voice doesn't carry out. A warning growl.
Still no fight.
Well, who is Slade not to take up that opportunity. He could handle the kid fighting. He can definitely appreciate him giving up already and just open his legs for him.
So Slade snakes a finger beneath the waistband, and finally it prompts Red Hood to act. His upper body is completely stuck, so instead he braces his legs on the concrete and buckles up. Attempts to, at least, Slade barely moves an inch and instead presses the one hand on his coccyx to pin his hips down and adjusts his legs to prevent any more movement from Red Hood.
His attempt to twist to the side is thwarted by Slade pressing down on his wrists again. They shift dangerously in Slade's hold, close to breaking. His shoulder also twists in the wrong direction.
Red Hood groans, his helmet thunks against the ground.
He doesn't have a single free inch to move.
"And here I thought the bats were master escapists," Slade taunts as he pushes both tactical pants and boxer down below the kid's ass. "Once more disappointed."
That gets him another attempt at squirming away. Uselessly, of course, but at least the kid does try to fight back.
Slade lets him wiggle in vain to instead focus on the displayed ass. So pretty, especially when it tightens from the effort. Everybody talks about Grayson's ass, but Red Hood has nothing to be ashamed of either. Strong competition. Slade lifts his mask just enough to free his mouth and wets a couple fingers, which he then brings to the crease of the kid's ass.
Red Hood freezes again. Then outright thrashes out, voice raising and almost saturating his modulator. "Don't you fucking dare, you fucking-" A single finger breaching in stops his ranting short. He chokes on an insult instead.
"Stop me then."
Slade's smile is audible in his voice, he makes sure of it. He's tempted to give the kid an opening, just to have an excuse to overpower him and pin him down again. Make him understand that there is no way out of this. Feel him squirm pathetically until he has no choice but offer himself to Slade. The thought gets a shiver out of him.
He ponders on it, squeezes Red Hood's wrists just enough to get a pained groan out of the kid, and decides to keep him like that for now. Just long enough to open him a bit.
Which he proceeds to do with little care. There's not enough lubricant for a smooth feel, Red Hood is stubbornly tight from being wound up by the fight, and none of it stops Slade from inserting a second finger and twisting them both.
He gets both grunts of pain and bit off moans, both attempts at wriggling away and body freezing and locking up.
Poor kid can't decide how to react. It's cute.
Two fingers is nowhere near enough, but it wouldn't be fun if it didn't hurt a bit, would it. So once the two fingers are met with little to no resistance, he takes them back to instead grind his hips against that plump ass.
And he eases his hold on Red Hood's wrists.
Immediately the kid jerks one arm out of Slade's grasp and throws an elbow back. He misses Slade by several inches, twists around, jerks his hips and tries to reach for the knife at Slade's hip. Slade grabs him before he can take hold, and just as fast Red Hood jerks his wrist out of the way before Slade can properly take hold on it.
It's a messy scuffle. Red Hood goes for all the dirty tricks, almost manages to uproot Slade a couple times before he can ground down on him, hits his throat again and manages to grab Slade's gun only for Slade to slam his hand against the concrete so hard Red Hood can't smother a shout.
It's never enough for Red Hood to gain the upper hand, but he gets close a few times. It's enough to have Slade's heartrate pick up and a proper shot of adrenaline. It's enough for a proper heat to settle in his guts. It also helps that Red Hood curses him out the whole time.
The kid falters eventually. His stamina is far better than the normal human thanks to training, but it still runs out after long minutes of wrestling against Slade. His breathing turns fast and shallow, his hits become slower and weaker, until he can't fight back properly anymore and Slade can manhandle him easily.
He gets rid of Red Hood's pants entirely along with his boots in a couple swift moves while the kid catches his breath, swats one leg away when it attempts a kick and drags the other up by the bend of the knee, and wraps both of Red Hood's arms around it before locking the whole mess down with one of his own arms.
It's not a comfortable position for the kid, even with his flexibility. He kicks with his only free limb, only to see it get pinned by one of Slade's own legs as he settles down behind him.
"Fuck…"
The modulator isn't enough to hide either the exhaustion or the resignation in the kid's voice. He can't move at all like this.
Slade lets himself laugh again. He drops a kiss on the back of Red Hood's neck, turns it into a bite when the kid slams his helmet back.
"Giving up already?"
His only answer is a groan that might have been a curse, and a body completely relaxing in his hold.
Back to resting and calculating a way out of this. Slade has anywhere between two to five minutes before the kid thrashes out again. He spits in his hand and lowers his own waistband enough to grab his cock and pump a few times, smearing a more generous amount of spit on it. He's already fully hard from the wrestling so it's not long before he pushes his cock between the kid's cheeks.
Red Hood groans painfully the whole time. His hips jerk once, most likely involuntarily, so Slade rolls them just enough to pin the kid half under him, and keeps pressing in.
He's so fucking tight. Hot and pushing against him, trying and failing to keep him out, moaning out by the time Slade bottoms out.
Slade pauses for both their sake. His free hand snakes back up and frees the latches of Red Hood's helmet. It's an effective way to prevent biting, sure, but Slade wants to see the kid's face, hear him without the modulator. The kid doesn't fight against it and soon the helmet is thrown further away.
Jason is flushed, sweaty, lips red and tears streaking down his cheeks through the domino mask.
"Aren't you pretty like that," Slade hums in his hair.
"Fuck off…"
Slade slams his hips against the kid's, gets a pretty bitten off whimper in reward.
His free arm wraps around Jason's neck, not pressing down but simply holding, completely closing any and all ways out of this, and he fucks the kid out mercilessly. It's not pretty, or soft, certainly not gentle. But fuck does it feel good. In seconds, sobs, pained groans, and punched out moans start echoing in the empty alley, each of them sending lightning down Slade's spine and heat building in his guts.
There is a last token of fight that gets Jason nowhere, then boneless abandon. Accepting his fate. Letting Slade slam home again and again in a bruising pace.
Despite all the crying and pained whines, the kid is hard and leaking on the concrete. "Enjoying yourself," Slade teases right in Jason's ear.
"Go to- hgn- go to hell!"
There's no bite in the kid's voice. He doesn't even try to headbutt Slade again when he licks Jason's earshell and bites it soon after. The kid's dick jumps, leaks some more precum, a strangled gasp leaves his lips.
Definitely into it.
"The Red Hood likes being beaten and fucked into submission, hm? That's some twisted kink here, kid."
"Goddam- Shut up!"
He breaks off in a whine. The kid's shaking all over, growing louder by the minute, so obviously close to bursting yet still trying to curse Slade off whenever he can catch a breath.
Slade could drag this off for much longer, until Jason passes out from exhaustion if he wished. But even though he chose an empty alley in the one sector no bats but Red Hood patrols in, the longer they keep this going out in the open, with Jason unable to keep his voice down, the more likely they would be found by someone.
So Slade chases his own release with brutal thrusts. He lets go of Jason's throat to instead smother his mouth down with his hand, effectively muffling the kid's sounds off. Surprisingly he doesn't bite the hand, though it wouldn't get him anywhere even if he tried with the gloves in the way.
Slade can still hear the cut-off moans and whimpers stuck in his throat, his fast-paced breathing, the disorganized stutter of his heartbeat. Between these and the kid's constant shaking, the desperate flutter of his sphincter muscles around Slade's cock, it doesn't take long for Slade to tip over.
He cums deep in Jason's ass, fucks it even deeper with a few more thrusts as the kid gargles nonsense against his hand.
"I can make you come," Slade promises darkly in the kid's ear, breath barely hitching after all the effort, never once stopping his thrusts. "I will release you. Stay put and I'll help you. One wrong move and I'm knocking you out, leaving you for the next twisted fucker to find and use."
Jason shudders and sobs. He doesn't move save for his uncontrollable shaking when Slade releases his limbs to instead take hold of the kid's cock.
It doesn't even take two twists of his wrist and as many thrusts of his hips before Jason comes with a muffled cry.
Everything stills for a few seconds as Slade recovers what little breath he has lost. The only sound echoing in the dark alley is the exhausted harsh breathing from the kid struggling to calm down.
He untangles himself from Jason and pushes himself up, only looking back at the kid still slumped on the ground once he's straightened his suit completely and hidden any trace of what happened.
The kid is a mess. Face red, covered in sweat and tears, his lower lip bitten down to blood and dripping saliva, hair once flattened by the helmet now sticking out in a mess of damp curls.
Talk about a sight.
Slade could leave him here to pick himself up. He should, really. But there's his own cum dripping out of the kid's ass and Slade knows better than to leave DNA behind like that.
With a sigh, Slade gathers the kid's pants and helmet, and manhandles him back into his suit only to abandon him against one of the nearby walls. He then spends the next few minutes dutifully cleaning the area of cum and blood.
One last look behind, catching the kid's hand jolting as he is apparently trying to recover use of his body, and Slade leaves the scene.
Only to settle on a nearby roof, so he can keep an eye on the kid. Red Hood has many enemies, it would only take one accidentally stumbling upon him while he's recovering for Red Hood to get killed.
And Slade sure is not going to allow that.
It takes about fifteen minutes before Red Hood finally lifts himself up on unsteady feet. His first few steps are wobbly, he almost stumbles and falls a couple times before he recovers enough strength and stability to walk away.
Slade follows. If Red Hood can tell he's not actually gone, he gives nothing away. He only drags his feet all the way back to his flat, struggles with his keys and alarm systems for long minutes, and ends up locking himself in his bathroom.
Slade waits for about five minutes before he slithers into the flat by the fire escape's window. Kid forgot to turn his alarms back on, so Slade does it, checks the door and locks it too, and proceeds to undress in the living room before making his way to the bathroom on silent feet.
He finds Jason standing still under the shower spray, head low and eyes closed, just breathing in slowly. A bruise is forming in the middle of his chest where Slade tackled him, another set is blooming red on his wrists. Slade sees no blood mingling with the water though, not even from his bitten lips. The cut must not have been too big.
The kid jolts when Slade lays one hand on his shoulder and walks under the spray behind him. He is tense for all of two seconds, then relaxes so entirely he presses his back against Slade's chest, almost collapsing were it not for Slade's arms circling his middle and holding him up.
"You okay, kid?" he rumbles low against Jason's ear. His only answer is a slow nod and more boneless abandon. "Too much?"
This time, he gets an equally slow shake of the head, followed by a few slurred words. "Perfect."
Slade rewards the answer with a kiss to his temple. Looks about right, if the blissed out expression on his face is any telling. He still looks subdued, hazy, close to subspace maybe. Not a bad thing right now, though Slade was right to stick around just in case.
"You're one tough asshole," he hums in Jason's hair in an attempt to bring him back closer to the surface.
Jason laughs quietly. "You almost cracked my ribs," he says, not one ounce of reproach in his tone. "And skull. And wrists."
"You almost shot me and wrecked my throat," Slade reminds him with another kiss.
"Didn't realize what you were doing yet."
Slade hums.
He did wait months for Jason to at least not have their discussion fresh in mind before going on the offensive. Let him forget he told Slade about previous "not so great experiences", let him forget he asked Slade to "rape him", let him get lulled back in a sense of security so he would stop looking over his shoulder in apprehension.
Stalk, fray his nerves, tire him.
Strike.
Slade told him, all those months ago, that Jason had better fight back real good or he would be disappointed, and Jason had laughed and promised he would try to kill him. Then he never uttered those words again once.
It was good to see Jason remember this whole thing when Slade finally spoke these words again.
It's still very apparent that it took a lot out of Jason, even knowing all of this was false. By now Slade is the sole reason the kid hasn't fully collapsed to the floor, whole weight supported by his bulk and arms. Not even days of uninterrupted vigilantism could leave him in this state usually.
"Should do that again," Jason says, so low another man wouldn't have heard him. Slade huffs and presses his lips against his temple once more.
"Give it a few months."