A/N: Sorry about the incredibly long wait; this turned out to be more than I bargained for and I figured it was better to wait and see what I could churn out with time than try to force it.

WARNINGS FOR QUITE LITERALLY EVERYTHING. Character death, rape, torture, the whole nine. Basically if you have any reservations you should probably turn away. And now, without further ado:

Slade awoke sitting on a strange metal chair, restraints looking like braided metal, almost rope like, leading away from each of his four limbs to opposite corners of the room. He wasn't sitting quite at ninety degrees, the bottom part of the chair sloped downwards in a way that was putting strain on his upper body: most of his weight was held up by the rope. He kept his breathing deep and even while opening his eye a sliver to see what he could before he was "awake."

"Give it a rest," a voice said. "I know you're up."

Slade looked up, impressed that Robin had noticed the subtle changes. Instead of saying anything however, he stretched against the rope tied around his limbs, checking its give while trying not to show Robin what he was doing. It, unfortunately, barely stretched and appeared incredibly resistant to breaking.

"Like it?" Robin smirked, cocking his head toward the man he had tied up. "It's my own invention. I figured, you know, chains just weren't strong enough."

"Not with me," Slade realized that it would take far too long for him to escape, so he began stretching to reach the ties in the rope, secured just below each wrist.

"Why are you here, Deathstroke?" Robin asked him, recognizing the colors of his mask and uniform. A killer gained a lot of enemies, after all, and it would be outright stupid not to learn any of the other major mercenaries in the business.

"I'm here for you," the mercenary said, deciding not to lie. He smirked. "Nothing personal. Just business. I'm sure you of all people understand that."

Robin flashed his teeth at the man. "I think you know I can't let you do that," he cautioned. Slade shrugged.

Robin watched the man sit calmly on the metal chair. Most of his victims fought him, struggled against their restraints, but none were as calm, as unaffected, as him. It would make his death all the better, even more exciting. Robin loved breaking his victims. And breaking Slade would be the most satisfying of all.

Robin didn't waste a minute, putting his hands squarely on the sides of Slade's mask and looking for the latch. It was off in a few seconds after Robin found it, and when he saw the man's face, he smirked.

"Little old to be a mercenary, don't you think?" he asked, touching the long white hair. Slade grimaced, willing himself not to pull away from the young boy's hands. Robin noticed the discomfort and moved, his hands instead running down smooth sheets of metal armor, taking off bits and pieces over pulse points, pointedly taking a piece off right over the man's crotch. Robin licked his lips and put his hand down directly over the bulge he found there, smirking in triumph as he felt the mercenary's thighs twitch under his palm.

"Aren't you a little young to be a killer?" Slade asked him in reply. Robin just grinned, removing his hand slowly, dragging his nails over the fabric. Robin frowned exasperatedly, over-exaggeratedly, looking like a petulant child. He quickly removed the rest of Slade's armor, then turned away from the mercenary, picking something metal off the table found behind him. When he turned back around, Slade saw that instead of some instrument of torture, all the boy held was a small crank.

"So, Slade," the teen started, looking at the man tied up in front of him, "you probably don't know what this is for." At the mercenary's silence, Robin grinned wickedly. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

Slade said nothing, leaving Robin to smirk and connect the crank to the chair Slade was sitting on, leaning over the man as he started turning it, muscles in his arms standing out. Slade frowned into the teen's face as the back of his chair started to tilt backwards.

"A reclining chair, Robin? Cute."

Robin bristled, trying not to let it show on his face. "They call it The German Chair. Very common in places like Syria. It's supposed to break your back. But hopefully for you, it won't."

Robin smirked, continuing to recline the metal chair, reveling in the expressions of discomfort flickering across Slade's face. At this point, the mercenary was lying almost parallel to the ground, his wrist restraints moving with the chair, his ankle restraints holding him tightly. He craned his neck upwards and winced, doing so pulled every muscle in his upper body that was already stretched to its limit.

Robin stared at him, his cheeks flushed red. At first glance, Slade would say that it was from exertion. At second glance, he would say it was arousal. Lust.

Robin lowered the back of the chair a little farther, just enough so Slade's body was making a strange angle, both his feet and his head pointed at the ground, only his hips held up by the chair. "So," he said, a teasing tone in his voice. "How are you feeling?"

"This is nothing," the mercenary said, his voice strained. His fingers was tracing the knots, unable to get them undone.

"Oh, come on now, don't lie to me," Robin gloated. "By now you should be in some pain, at least. A normal human would barely be surviving right now. Or they would be in immense pain. I know you're feeling it."

Slade said nothing, leaving Robin to lower the back of the chair even further. Slade winced and attempted to stretch, repositioning his abused muscles. It was a good thing the mercenary was more than human, because if he wasn't, his back would be beyond broken. As it was, it was bent backwards to its limit.

"Hmmm," Robin hummed softly, smirking at something. Slade looked up at him questioningly, his eyebrows knit together, his skin sheened in sweat from discomfort. "I was going to wait just a little bit longer for this, but you've been so good…"

Robin ran his hands down Slade's sides, his fingers catching at the waistband of the mercenary's skin-tight black pants, tugging them down swiftly, licking his lips at the older man's limp cock. He leaned over it, effortlessly swallowing it down to the base, working with his hands and mouth to get Slade hard, despite the man's increasingly uncomfortable position. Slade tried to shift into the most comfortable position he could, the strain on his back becoming unbearable, just as Robin sucked on the head of his dick. Slade couldn't help but buck his hips forward, crying out in pain as the movement pulled his back. The teen hero smirked, continuing his onslaught, succeeding in making the mercenary at least half-hard. He then pulled down his tights midway, straddled the tortured man, and sunk down on his length, barely allowing himself lube.

Slade cried out sharply with every push and pull that was produced by Robin thrusting himself down on Slade's cock, the movement jostling his back, straining his spine in a way that should be impossible. He pulled on the bonds on his wrists, gasping as they started to loosen with the movement Robin was creating. He stretched out half a centimeter-

Robin smirked as he heard a loud pop echo from the man's back, thrusting himself down on the recently-deceased mercenary under his thighs, making a high pitched keening noise as his orgasm washed over him. He laughed through the sharp aftershocks, spurting come over the corpse beneath him, shivering as the waves of pleasure passed. He climbed off the mercenary, snorting as the ties in the rope reached their limit and snapped under the weight of the dead man, sending him tumbling to the ground in a broken heap. The man's back was twisted and contorted at an angle that almost hurt to look at.

Almost.

Robin shrugged and turned away from the man, pulling his tights back up and adjusting them silently, walking out of the darkened torture room, leaving the mercenary there to rot.