A/N: If DC are selling, I am buying! Using what money, I don't know… the business proposal down below is not very appealing… although… until then, though, the Titans and Slade does not belong to me…

No big surprise, but this one won this round... I love those of you who voted on my kitten a bit more then the rest, though... -grin- Only joking! (-whispers- No, I'm not...) ;)

I've read several stories in the same genre, both in the Sladin-universe and other fan-doms, so no, I'm NOT delusional and think I came up with this all by myself… I hope you like my version, though… ;)

You Get What You Pay For

"Oh, yes! Master! Yes!" the young teen under him cried out as Slade pounded into his ass. Slade smirked and picked up speed. He was close as it was, but the boy was begging for it.

Fifteen minutes later he had gotten dressed, and was putting ten hundred-dollar bills on the night-stand.

"I'll see you next week, my little bird. Remember, you are only mine, is that clear?"

The teen on the bed smiled, adjusted his clumsy mask, and nodded.

"Yes, Master Slade."

His voice, when not crying out in passion, was quiet, with a slight lilt, hinting to something foreign… maybe Asian? Slade wasn't sure, as the mask covered his eyes and half his face completely. Removing the mask was out of question, however. It would ruin the illusion.

Slade would have never considered a prostitute, especially not such a young one, but the teen had approached him himself, this very Halloween, wearing a rather poor Robin-outfit, the kind you could buy cheaply at the super-market. The mask was a basic black rounded masquerade one with a rubber band holding it up, but the boy, or someone else, had glued some sort of opaque-looking plastic on the inside, making it impossible to see the eyes. The boy appeared to be able to see perfectly fine, however. His hair was sticking up in a rather messy interpretation of the hero's hairstyle, and he had moved carefully, a bit skittishly, like he was expecting to be stricken, but his purpose could not be misunderstood. Slade had known what the boy was before he had looked up at him and quietly asked "Want me, Mister? One hundred?"

That first time, as Slade warmed up to the idea, he had taken the boy back to his lab and tested him for every disease he could think off. The boy had submitted to the tests, although looking rather perturbed, like Slade was insulting him. The man wasn't a fool, though. The blatant way the boy had come up to him, had showed that he had probably been on the streets for a rather long time, and Slade had standards. It surprised and delighted Slade that the tests all came up negative. With that taken care off, Slade had taken the boy to bed for the first time.

It was impossible that the teen was a virgin, of course, but he had been a good actor, as well as very tight. He was also surprisingly clumsy, but Slade had taught him a thing or three, molding him into a perfect little lover for himself.

He didn't know where the boy came from or where he spent his days. Slade had soon started paying him enough so that he would be exclusively his, he didn't want other men's sloppy seconds. If the money went to a pimp or a family, he didn't know either, but the boy looked to be well kept. There were bruises, sometimes, troubling ones, but Slade had only asked about them once and only gotten a shrug as a reply. Things were tough on the street, things happened.

Their meetings had quickly turned weekly; Slade didn't want to allow himself any more of the fantasy. Moderation was key. They met at the same dingy hotel every time, a place were the owners looked the other way, no matter what, as long as there was a little something extra in it for them.

Slade looked back on the boy on the bed as he left, getting another lazy smile. Whatever guilt he felt, those smiles wiped away. Slade knew he was a hypocrite, but it really looked like the teen enjoyed their little sessions, and Slade wanted to believe that. He didn't want to consider the opposite.

The teen rested a while after the man left and then stretched, yawning. He got up, snuck out of the hotel and into a back alley. He pushed the money into the cup of a blind beggar, changed his mask and mounted his bike. He drove away, smiling.

The End.