Slade can't remember the last time someone knocked on his safe house door. It's just notdone,not only because it's stupid (he's got it rigged so that forcing the door open will cause it to detonate), but because he makes a point of ensuring no one knows where he lives.
Only apparently notno one,because someone's knocking at his door right then.
He double checks his gun as he heads for the door, keeping his footsteps soft. The peephole is sealed over, but he's got a security camera in the hallway he can check. His best guess is Dick, if only because he's one of the few people who might be able to locate Sladeandbe stupid enough to knock, but he hasn't seen him for a few weeks, and as far as he knows Dick is still up in Bludhaven.
It isn't Dick, though: It's his kid brother.
And not even any of the kid brothers he likes, but the baby of the family.
The baby of the family standing outside his door in hisgoddamn Robin uniform.
Slade's half a moment from calling Dick to come pick up his brother when he decides against it, pulling the door open himself, leaning against the door frame as he stares down at the kid in front of him.
"If you're trying to sneak into my apartment and catch me up to some kind of nefarious deed, consider actually sneaking rather than knocking next time."
"I am doing no such thing," Damian snaps. He makes an attempt to brush past Slade and walk into his apartment, only Slade simply stands his ground, causing Damian to practically walk into him before falling back, looking irritated. "...Let me in."
"Why should I do that?" Slade asks. "You've never been anything but an irritation to me, kid. I've got no reason to let you in."
Damian wrinkles his nose, obviously irritated. He clearly doesn't want to have the conversation at all, andabsolutelydoesn't want to have the conversation in the hallway.
Slade doesn't either, but he doesn't tell him that. It's simply bad practice: never show your hand to an opponent.
"I would like to engage in a business transaction with you," Damian says as formally as he can muster, and Slade's eyebrow goes up in surprise.
Damian—DamianWayne—wants to hire him.
The son ofBatmanwants to hire him.
"Color me surprised," he says, stepping out of the way. It could be a lie, but even as a charade, it doesn't seem like something Bruce would approve of. It's obviously not a plan Damian's run by him whether it's a lie or not.
Damian steps inside, looking immensely relieved to be inside as he inspects the apartment. It's not his main one (Slade doesn't reallyhavea main apartment, technically), but it's at least semi-permanent. Secured weapons cache. Sleeping area. A little kitchenette. He catches Damian staring at the computer setup Slade has, and Slade cuffs his head.
"Don't even think about it," he says, closing the door and securing it behind them. "Now let's not beat around the bush. Who do you want to be rid of so badly you're willing to cross daddy?"
Damian's never had his father's compunctions about killing, but he's always put at least an effort into containing himself for the sake of his family, and Slade's surprised to see him going back on it.
It has to be something big, and he's shocked he hasn't heard about it.
"No one," Damian says.
"You said—"
"If you would allow me to finish," Damian says, annoyed, "I would have explained the nature of the task for you."
Slade bites his tongue, watching Damian as he works himself up to saying it.
When he does, it takes every bit of Slade's self control to not laugh in his face.
"I would like to sleep with you."
Slade's sure his face is twitching for how hard it is to contain his laughter.
"You're not my type."
"I have a large amount of cash prepared for this," Damian says. "I am also sixteen, which is the legal age in this state—"
"Why would you think I would give a damn about theage of consent?"Slade asks, giving a dismissive wave.
"Icare for the age of consent," Damian says. He looks genuinely flustered, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation. His cheeks are actually going red, even.
"You aren't my type," he says. "Period."
"I should have known you'd be useless at something like this," Damian says. "I will simply have to find someone better."
Damian turns to go, but Slade's hand darts out, catching Damian by the shoulder. The scuffle is brief, with both of them disengaging without further blows.
"Explain," Slade says. "What the hell are you actually doing here?"
Oh yeah, Damian isdefinitelyembarrassed. His cheeks are going more and more red with every word spoken.
"My training with the League was insufficient," he says. "Mother always said there would be appropriate training when I came of age, but since she is no longer available, I must endeavor to ensure I have the proper training myself. Father would... would not approve."
Slade slaps his forehead with his palm.
"Kid, you don't want this. Go home, have your first time with some nice girl your pop tries to match you up with, and handle things the normal way. You don't want to handle things the al Ghul way."
"I do," Damian snaps. "Other people my age are already experiencing these things, and I will—I will not be left out."
A suspicion starts to grow, even if Slade is wishing it really wouldn't. He can't stop himself from leaning in slightly, his voice dropping low and husky.
"If you came here for training," Slade says, "then the answer is no. I'm not a prostitute. But..."
He lets thebuthang in the air, watching the way Damian's body tenses.
"If you came to me foranotherreason, then we could talk."
It's a test. He wants to see if Damian's pride will bend enough to let him admit it. Obviously he didn't come toDeathstrokefor no reason. No, he picked him out because of a very specific set of criteria, and Slade presses in, closing the space between them.
Damian doesn't fight him. He doesn't lash out, even with Slade so close.
"Go on," Slade says.
"You seem like you would be knowledgeable about how such things go," Damian says, which is not the answer Slade wants. "Your healing factor means you would not carry any diseases," he continues, which is also not the answer. "You can be trusted not to betray a contract."
But that's still not the answer he wants, and Slade leans in a little bit closer.
"And?"
Damian swallows. It's the first real sign of nerves since the whole thing started.
"And..." Damian says slowly. "You are... appealing to me."
Not exactly the most flattering way to say it, but Slade can't help but be amused by the whole thing. Not just that Damian's come to him for help in such a sensitive manner, but the difference from his normal demeanor. He's nervous, almost like he's expecting rejection.
"Appealing," Slade says with a chuckle. "That's all you have to say?"
Damian scowls at him, obviously unimpressed.
"Will you take my offer or not?"
"On my terms," he says. He wants to beveryclear on that front. The kid can either do things his way, or he can get the hell out.
"Which are?" Damian says, folding his arms across his chest.
"We fight, for one."
"...Fight."
"You're the type who will be a problem if we don't. You'll argue. You'll bicker every step of the way. So we fight, I win, and then I show you how I do things."
"And if I win?"
Damian isn't going to win, but Slade indulges him.
"If you win, you can do whatever you want to me. Have your way with me, as they'd say."
He doesn't miss the way Damian's tongue darts out, dragging along his lower lip. He's tantalized by the idea, lost in thought by what that would entail. By what he could do with Slade—withDeathstroke—at his mercy.
"Alright," he says. "I have terms of my own."
"State them."
"No marks. I walk out of here tomorrow morning under my own power. No touching any of my gear or devices. No records of this encounter will exist."
"I'll counter," Slade says. "No marks that couldn't be explained by an ordinary patrol. We're starting this off by sparring, and I can't control how many bruises you'll get out of it."
Damian considers his options, and then nods.
"Acceptable."
"Good," Slade says. "Then you'll pay me now, we'll start immediately, and I'll kick you out tomorrow morning."
He wasn't planning to go all night, but he certainly can. Does Damian even realize that a normal encounter doesn't generally last that long? Or is he that level of ignorant?
Damian doesn't try and haggle. He knows the kind of price Slade expects, and when Slade's phone alerts him to a transaction, he gives it only a cursory glance before setting it aside, dropping it onto its dock.
"Clothes off."
"What?" Damian says, reeling back.
"I already know who you are, so you can dispense with the mask. Otherwise, gear off. Anything left on, I'm going to assume you don't mind me ruining."
"You'll do no such thing."
"I'll do that exact thing, actually," Slade says. "Clothes off."
"I should make you remove them."
Slade smiles, showing the whites of his teeth. "If you'd like."
Damian seems to second guess himself.
"...You'll do the same."
Slade reaches up, starting to peel off his gear. There's not much of it, considering the ikon suit is pretty much all he needs.
Damian does a poor job of hiding that he's interested in what Slade has on offer as he pulls the top half off, tossing the suit aside as he goes down to his boxers.
"Foolish," Damian says. "You're defenseless."
"If you think I need the suit to kick your ass, your training must be worse than I thought."
Damian lunges.
It's a monumentally stupid choice, but he makes it anyway, closing the gap between the two of them. Slade can't decide if he's genuinely arrogant enough to think he has a chance against him, or if he's just eager to see what happens when he loses.
Sladehadbeen planning a long, drawn out spar. He'd been planning to really make Damian work up a sweat, to see where the kid's training was at. But with that kind of arrogance? No, he's not getting that kind of perk.
So Slade puts him down. He steps into the attack rather than dodging out of the way, bringing his knee up to slam into Damian's gut as he does. Damian jerks to the side, but not fast enough to dodge Slade's hand catching his wrist, pulling it hard and sending him spinning off balance.
Damian does manage to jump over Slade's sweep, but can't stop Slade from simply hitting him while he's mid-air, knocking him to the floor.
Slade's just too fast for him. He's too fast, too strong, and too big, and that's not even taking into account how much more experience he has. The League didn't even come close to preparing him for this.
Damian grunts as he hits the floor. There's no padding, nothing to soften it, and Damian lets out a pained wheeze as Slade drops down, pinning him to the floor with a knee pressed against his lower back.
Slade's not exactly a lightweight, and he's putting hisfullweight onto Damian.
"You've lost," Slade says. "That was fast."
"You—" Damian snarls something, but apparently can't quite figure out what it is about the situation that's unfair. Slade's wearing nothing but underwear while Damian's still fully geared.
"You were always going to lose," Slade says. "Only difference is how fast, and how irritated I'd be. Considering you're still fully clothed..."
"I'll take them off," Damian snaps. "I didn't bring a change of clothes."
"Rookie mistake," Slade says with a laugh. "Always bring a change of clothes. If you don't, you'll end up leaving my apartment with my cum running down the inside of your leg."
Even with the domino mask obscuring part of his face, the flush that brings to Damian's face is clear.
"I forbid it."
"You don't get to forbid it," Slade says. "If that was one of your terms, you should have included it."
"I'm adding itnow,"Damian hisses.
"And what are you going to give me that would balance out me getting a chance to fill you up with my cum, exactly?" Slade says, leaning forward slightly. The shift of his weight is enough to make Damian's breathing hitch, and Slade's sure he's going to end up with a whole new set of bruises along his ribs from the pressure.
"Just tell me what you want."
Damian's a smart kid, so he knows how the game is played. He knows that Slade wouldn'treallyask him to offer something up, because there's nothing Damian could offer that he couldn't just take.
Or almost nothing, but Slade isn't expecting Damian to come up with it on his own.
"You're going to address me how I please," he says. "We're going to start with sir."
Damian makes a small choked noise that Slade's sure is one of pure frustration. Damian isnotthe sort of person who calls people sir. Especially not people like him. Showing that kind of deference to a criminal must drive him insane, and it's a big ask.
"If I say no?"
"Then I get free reign to cum where I want."
He can see Damian weighing his options, but the weight pressing him int