A/N: So, I decided today that just because I'm writing a story for every letter in the alphabet, that doesn't mean I have to release them in order. Mainly because this story looks so sad, sitting all lonely in my Documents folder, and I have no patience. : )

I is for Inebriated

The shadowy figure leaped from building to building with astonishing grace, making dangerous leaps with astounding ease. He moved freely, for once not in the least worried about being seen. Abruptly he sprang into the air, feet and fists fiercely pummeling the sky, simply because he could. He landed on a gritty rooftop, stumbling slightly before he steadied himself.

Normally his misstep would have worried him, but right now he was too damn happy to care. He spun and kicked, lashing out at nothing, glorying in the effortless way his body moved. On a sudden whim, he leaped into the shadows and disappeared. A cheshire grin spread across his face as he stared out at the night-darkened city.

Even drunk off his ass, he was still totally awesome.

Leaving the shadows, he walked confidently along the building's edge, ignoring the stares and gasps from people on the crowded street below. The bright lights lining the thoroughfare and the lively music drifting from clubs and bars echoed his mood, lifting it even further.

I really should do this more often, he mused, running his hand idly along a neon sign perched on the rooftop beside him. Lately he spent all his time training, fighting, or strategizing. Even when he did have time for fun, there was always some niggling part of him that insisted he had better things to do. Luckily, alcohol was very effective at shutting down those parts.

A sliver of melody drifted up to him on the warm night air, and he listened intently. Normally he would never have paid attention to a song like this, but tonight all the facets of his personality that he kept safely locked away were coming out.

I dream of you every night
Feels like I'm losing my mind
This feeling's just getting stronger
My head is spinning around
You play with me but I'm bound
I can't resist any longer

The music cut off abruptly as a door somewhere swung shut, but he was no longer listening. He flopped gracelessly down onto his butt, legs dangling over the edge as he sat. He wasn't sure what vengeful god of pop music had been trying to ruin his mood, but they had succeeded.

He sighed wistfully as he considered his secret infatuation. Of all the ridiculous people to lust after, he of course had to pick his worst enemy, the person who hated him most in the world. It had started with mutual obsession, but somewhere in the midst of all the fighting, he had found the sharp flame of desire growing inside him.

And now here he was, moping on a rooftop like a sulky child, just because some inane song had voiced his thoughts. Surely he was better than this! Surely he could find something more productive to do than pity himself!

Suddenly he stood up, determination flooding him. He was going to confess his feelings, and damn the consequences!

And he was going to do it right now, before he sobered up.

_ _ _ _ _ _

William Randolph Wintergreen spent a very large amount of his time worrying about Slade. He worried when Slade was out fighting the Titans. He worried when Slade went on a murderous rampage.

He had never before had to worry about the man getting drunk.

Wintergreen sighed as he looked at the two very large, very empty wine bottles. He sincerely hoped that Slade, wherever he was, was staying out of trouble.

He also sincerely doubted it.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Robin woke fuzzily, disoriented by the feel of a large, warm body snuggled against him. It felt kind of nice, but his sleep-clouded brain couldn't tell him who exactly it was supposed to be, and that worried him.

He catapulted the rest of the way into wakefulness as an unknown hand cupped his ass.

"Don't worry," a voice whispered into his ear. "It's just me." The voice was deep, masculine, and smelt very strongly of fermented grapes.

"And who the hell are you?" Robin whispered back fiercely.

"I'm Slade. Why are we whispering?"

"Because you were- WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE SLADE?" Robin jumped out of bed and shot across the room, raising his arms in a defensive position as he spun around.

A very large, very naked man was sprawled across his bed in the near darkness. His body was strong and lithe, rippling with muscle, though his pure white hair looked like that of an old man. Robin blushed and fixed his gaze firmly on the stranger's face, noting his goatee and the eye patch that covered one eye.

"Oh, don't do that." The voice certainly sounded like Slade's, but Robin couldn't equate the words being said with Slade's usual psychopathic demeanor.

"I'm too drunk to fight. And anyway, I want to have to have sex with you. Might be too drunk for that too, though."

Robin's brain stuttered to a halt. There was no way on earth this could be- his eyes fell on a very familiar black-and-orange costume crumpled at the foot of his bed.

"You really are Slade, aren't you?"

"Yup. Slade Wilson, at your service. Now come here, little one. If I can't fuck you, I want to snuggle."

Robin's mind raced, even as his face turned beet red and his brain filed away the name Wilson. What the hell were you supposed to do when your arch-nemesis showed up drunk and cuddly?

"Rooooobiiiiiin, I'm waaaaiting."

Looking at Slade's bare body stretched across his sheets, Robin suddenly had a very good idea.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Slade winced as he woke, groggy and disoriented. His head felt like every citizen of Jump had taken a turn whacking it with a sledgehammer. Through bleary eyes he peered at his surroundings, recognizing one of his old lairs. How had he gotten . . .? A folded piece of paper fluttered off his chest as he sat up stiffly. He looked down- and realized he was completely naked. He glanced frantically around the room before finding a neat pile of metal and cloth lying on the floor beside him.

What the hell had he done last night?!

He simply couldn't remember. Despair in his soul, he unfolded the paper, hoping it would hold some clues to his recent activities. After reading it once through, he groaned loudly.

This was not good.

He lurched to his feet, grabbing his armor as he did so. Clanking and cursing echoed through the room as a very unhappy Slade got dressed and stormed out, making sure to storm gently enough that his tender head remained relatively unhurt.

The white piece of paper lay innocently on the floor, cheery handwriting at odds with its message of doom.

Slade,

Thanks for everything. Last night was amazing, and I'll always treasure the memories we made, as well as the videotape. I trust you to keep your promises about toning down the crime- and you know as long as you do, I'll keep mine about the pictures. Love,

Robin