"Shit shit shit"

Why had I accepted this job, I rolled quickly to the side as Slade's fist crashed into the floor where I had been only moments before. This was not cool.

My body hurt from getting hit and falling down, my pride hurt from the lack of effort Slade was putting into his fighting, and head hurt from trying to figure out what it was that Slade wanted out of me. I'd been there a total of three hours and all we'd done was spar. I'd seen enough footage of Robin fighting with that obsessive freak to have a basic grasp of Robin's fighting style. Every once in a while he would break away from the fight to correct some part of my technique or teach me a better way to execute a move.

It wasn't too hard to visualize Robin in this situation; he'd be rebellious, angry and pissed. Slade, the only villain the teen titans couldn't keep down; hell I'd be pissed to.

So rebellious and angry was how I acted, I would ignore his instructions until he beat me several more times with a move that I could have blocked if I had followed his instructions.

Within another hour I was too tired to move, my fighting consisted of purely defensive blocks that required the least amount of effort. Slade's strikes were still powerful and precise, and were slipping past my defenses much more frequently then at the start of our battle. And yet they weren't powerful when they landed, they were almost mockingly gentle; an open-handed pat there, a nudge with the knuckles here, a tap with the heel of his foot there, nothing that would leave more than a slight bruise the next day. I didn't know whether to be grateful for the kindness or pissed that he didn't think I could take more than that.

My defensive strategy hit an all-time low at the point when he managed to step directly in front of me and snake his arm around my waist, effectively pinning me against his chest.

While my defense may have been low, that move skyrocketed my adrenalin. I'd been trying to sink so deep into being Robin that when that move registered in my brain my reaction was that of a teenage boy being sexually assaulted.

"SHIT!"

My knee jerked up with all the fear and loathing a 16 year-old male's mind could hold. Impacting violently with the crotch of a 16 year-old whore's customer. I slipped out of his grasp as he flinched from the blow. I stood stock still less then a yard a way from him. Allowing "Sparrow's" mind to process what she had just done.

"Oh, fuck."

"You will regret that move little bird."

Slade's voice slowly registered in my mind.

"This guy could speak, coherently, after a blow like that."

His hand shot out fingers encircling my wrist and squeezing as he straightened his posture. With a swift tightening of his fingers and a flick of the wrist he had me immobile on my knees before him. The agony shooting up my forearm and numbing my fingers held me in place as effectively as a straight-jacket.

I whimpered, wanting to claw at his hand, wanting to free myself but not daring to move. When I risked a glance up at his face I saw his single eye glaring down at me. Fear flooded my senses, mixing with the pain. Any attempt at being anything other than a whore had long since fled my mind and I reacted in the manner that had been drilled into me for the past several years. Still on my knees and still looking up at him I raised my free hand, slowly sliding it his calf, then his knee, then along his thigh, grazing over his cock and coming to rest on the buckle of his belt. I let my mouth slacken and open, running my tongue over my lips in the most suggestive manner I could manage.

"Please, don't kill me."

I had never been this afraid. I prayed that he would accept my plea of forgiveness.

Slade's grip loosened, his other hand grazed my cheek then slid through my hair, causing the sweat-dampened locks to stand in spikes. His hand came to rest on the back on my neck, his fingers gripping my hair tightly in his fist. I raised myself up on my knees, still looking up at him. Giving my hair a light tug he nodded and I unlatched his belt and began.