A/N: Hello m'dears… I hope the week has been a good one to you!
Please, if you like this story, click the follow/favorite button. Also, reviews are deeply cherished!
S/N: Just a small side note, yes, this chapter is crossing territory between T and M. I thought about bumping it up to M, but really, I'm not going into detail so I'll just specify that there's a sexual situation in this chapter.
Slade worked steadily for the next month. There was little (in his opinion) that satisfied him more than watching as Oliver Queen's entire world came apart at the seams. Causing the kid's biosphere to come crashing down around him churned in his gut with a kind of primal zing. It brought him an endless amount of satisfaction to know he'd struck a mortal blow against his former friend; his brother. He'd literally managed to rip the rug right out from underneath the kid's feet. And he'd done it with a minimal amount of effort required.
In the matter of just a few short weeks, he'd kidnapped Oliver's pretty little sister, Thea (as well as revealed to the young woman the secret her sainted brother had been keeping from her), publicly disgraced Officer Quentin Lance (father of Sara Lance), taken over Queen Consolidated with the help of Isabel Rochev (a more than willing co-conspirator), acquired a new batch of samples for his serum to be tested upon, broke apart the members of Team Arrow, and informed the pretty little District Attorney about just who the man beneath the green hood was.
Everything was coming together exactly as he'd planned it.
His days and nights began to blur together once he set the chain of events into motion. In the mornings he chaired board meetings at Queen Consolidated and oversaw the mass production of the serum that would produce him an unstoppable army of super soldiers. He was also present in the afternoons for each of the phases the Mirakuru was put through before it was deemed as ready for final testing stage (which he oversaw as well). The only thing that Slade was now regretting was how much of his plan was interfering with him spending time with Sienna. He made a concentrated effort every morning, before he headed off to the meetings that Blood and Isabel expected him to attend, to try and catch her alone.
In the last four weeks that had managed to work all of twice.
He had taken to pouring himself a drink in the evening in hopes that Sienna would come into his office and grace him with one of those shy little smiles he found so soothing. He'd come to appreciate her quiet demeanor and ways even more. He'd come to realize just how important a part of his life that his dove had become. The night they'd spent onboard his yacht revealed that Sienna was the calm inside his storm. She was the light inside his darkness, the music inside his silence and the summer to his winter. He found that when he was with her that the beast who was alive inside of him, slept. That monster always laughing at him, taunting him, hurling insults at him stopped churning. With her he was able to think about something other than vengeance for five fucking minutes. With Sienna he was the man he'd been... before. He was the Slade Wilson he'd been before the Mirakuru, before Shado's death, before his so-called brother's betrayal.
Before he'd become… Deathstroke.
Yet, in those four weeks, he routinely found himself denied even the one small bit of pleasure (beyond torturing the kid, of course) that he allowed himself. In the last thirty days he'd barely managed to spend more than two or three minutes alone with her. Even those few precious moments he managed to steal were lacking in the quality time he desired. Most of their brief conversations consisted of him giving her a list of tasks or assignments that he needed her to do for him. Touches were limited to the slight brushes of their fingertips as they handed papers to each other. Any time he did manage to catch his little dove alone for more than five or six minutes, either Isabel, Sebastian or another of his idiot minions came along to interrupt them, demanding his immediate attention and taxing his very limited supply of patience.
That morning his tether had snapped. He'd finally managed to corner Sienna in the hallway outside their bedrooms. He'd been in need of her soothing touch; craved it. He'd been as randy and impatient as a teenager, and just as fumbling. Then Isabel showed up and reminded him about how he was needed at the labs that afternoon. Slade had been about ready to go on a killing spree.
Before he'd stormed from the apartment he'd requested Marta prepare a special dinner (Sienna's favorite), and have it set out on the rooftop garden at exactly seven that evening. Marta had complied (as he'd known the woman would) and he'd spent the entire evening seated beside a roaring fire with Sienna. There'd been a standing order (of death) that they were not to be disturbed, no matter what the reasons were. It had been a desperately needed evening.
He'd fallen asleep with his head full of thoughts about his dove, and drifted into dreams of her. Full-bodied dreams where Sienna lay beneath him, moving under him, against him. Damp skin, like liquid gold, slid over ivory. Dark chocolate eyes widened, and swollen red lips, parted. He could hear the sound of her breath, the catch and release, the soft gasps. He smelled her, that siren's scent of jasmine and vanilla that made him think of forbidden dances and hot Arabian nights. He woke with his muscles quivering, and his body aching for her. So vivid was the dream, he half expected to turn his head and find Sienna curled up against his side. He snarled when he found himself alone.
Throwing back the covers, he rose, naked, and stalked into the bathroom. He grabbed one of the towels from the shelf before slapping on the water in the shower, running it cold in order to stop the magma flooding through his veins and scorching his every nerve ending. He showered, dressed in loose fitting cotton workout pants and padded out of his bedroom on silent feet. It did not bother him that he was dreaming about sex. It bothered him that all he could do was dream about sex.
"She is not the woman that I am," he heard her say in a low murmur. "She is weak, pathetic."
He stopped, but did not turn. A trickle of air blew across his skin, prickling it. He ignored it, and the cold fingers that skimmed along the underside of his left arm, over his back, settled down his right arm.
"You're wrong," he told her softly. "Sienna is neither weak, nor pathetic."
"She is distracting you," she said in a low, husky murmur. "Preventing you from making Oliver fully pay for what he did to me."
"Sienna has not distracted me," he denied. "She has promised to not interfere with my vendetta against him."
"Five years ago you made me a promise," there was a veiled accusation in her tone, and a bitter anger. "Have you forgotten the vow you made to me?"
"I know exactly what I promised you, Shado."
It was silent for a number of moments. Slade assumed (or maybe it was he hoped. He honestly was not sure which at this point) that she had faded off into the background now that she was done with him. But then he heard her muse, "I wonder," in a soft voice. "Is what you feel for this woman nothing more than you having transferred your feelings for me onto her?"
"You are to leave Sienna out of this," he warned in one dark rumble. "She has nothing to do with this."
He felt a billow of air, like breath, blow across his ear. "Do you think you can save her as you failed to save me?"
In the silence of the front hall, his low moan, much like that of a wounded cougar, echoed like a gunshot. His hands trembled, quaked with an almost violent need to strike something-anything. Deliberately, he balled them into fists at his side. He considered throwing the small table by the entryway in hopes the sound it would make would bring Sienna out of her bedroom to investigate. He desperately wanted to see her angelic face peeking out from around the corner, those dark eyes like melted chocolate as they met his. He wanted to hear that voice which was like melted butter ask him, "are you all right?" before she glided towards him. He trembled with a nearly overwhelming want to drop to his knees and bury his face against her flat stomach, to feel those small, knowledgeable fingers stroking through his hair, across the muscles taut as razor wire along the back of his neck. Goddamn it, he wanted to be stroked and soothed, to be pampered and petted, to be bloody well cuddled and coddled!
Anger surged and he grabbed the edge of the table, started to yank it towards him. His breath came in one long, hard pant. The low, wet hiss of it whistled out from between his clenched teeth. He stopped when he heard a soft sound coming from the other end of the long entrance hall. Was that...music? He paused to listen. Sure enough, he could hear the unmistakable strains of Hans Zimmer playing. Swords Crossed, he thought as he followed the sound of the pounding drums and crashing cymbals to his office door. He thought it fitting. He reached out, grasped the handle and gave it a twist before slowly pushing the door open. It opened without making a sound. He stepped in the darkened room, immediately searching for the woman he knew was up and working (of all things) at this late hour.
He found her standing in front of one of the metal filing cabinets. Her nimble fingers were racing through the hundreds of files for the specific one she was searching for at a rate of speed any race car driver would approve of. A small smile graced his lips as he leaned against the cabinet on his left, folding his arms across his chest as he took in her appearance. That tousled mane of gypsy hair curling down her back and those sleep flushed features all testified that, like him, she'd been asleep at some point. He didn't know what might have awoken her. A part of him, that deep and dark part he kept contained, wondered if she was being haunted by the same dreams he was being plagued by.
He damn sure hoped so.
He shoved away from the wall and slowly made his way towards her. He was in hunter mode; all he needed to do now that he'd located his prey was capture her. Inwardly, his grin was the essence of predatory; outwardly, his expression said absolutely nothing at all.
"Sleepless night, love?"
Sienna let out a small, surprised shriek at the sound of that soft, silky voice. She spun on one foot to face him, fumbling the papers she held in her hand. She cursed as a few slipped out to land on the floor at their feet.
"Oh, damn it." She crouched down and scooped the papers up, but others began to tumble out onto the floor. She let out a frustrated breath as she started to gather those papers and stick them back into the manila folders, but Slade merely reached out and took the folders from her. She glanced up, her confusion feathering her brow. Her eyes widened in shock when he flung the folders towards his desk, absolutely not caring about how the paperwork rained down upon the hardwood floor in colorful disarray.
She looked first at the mess, then him. There was a mystified look to her face that he found amusing. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he favored, and her lips curved up into that shyly sweet smile he had been hungering to see for weeks.
"Well," she said as she slowly rose to her feet in a rustle of silk. "I guess I really did not want to have a look at those papers tonight."
"You should not be working this late." Flashes of his earlier dream flashed behind his eyes; Sienna beneath him, moving under him, against him. Damp skin, like liquid gold, slid over ivory. His blood bubbled to a boiling point. She stayed where she was when he shifted closer to her, caging her in by laying his hands on the filing cabinets on either side of her. "What sort of boss would have an angel like you working at this time of night?"
"Currently," she quipped. "The boss who is wearing an eye patch but no shirt or boots."
His lips twitched at her jest. "I'm a pirate, remember?" he purred.
"Are you now?" Sienna's eyes sparked with mischief as her arms circled his neck. In the last few weeks she'd come to realize that Slade Wilson was a man of ever changing moods and who wore many different masks (including that black and orange one she'd found by accident). The events which had occurred outside of Verdant had shown her there was a whole other side to the man currently pressed against her. Which was why when she spoke next, she kept up the lighthearted and playful banter that was between them. She liked this version of him the most, the one which was prone to indulging and teasing, to soothing and comforting, to seduction and romance.
"And yet, you are missing the earring, the cutlass and the parrot." Her lips shivered, and her eyes glowed with her mirth. "What sort of respectable pirate are you without your effects, Slade?"
"Ah," Slade said, his lips curving into a wolfish smile. "But who says I'm respectable, love?"
Surreptitiously, Sienna studied him. His profile wasn't perfect. His dark hair was still damp from his shower and there was a patch of silver at his temples that her fingers just itched to run through. She contented herself by skimming her fingers over the back of his neck. His nose was straight, the nostrils slightly flared, his face smooth except for a few faint lines at the corner of his one eye. His mouth she'd found could smile cruelly, or sensually. He hadn't shaved, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw and over those angular cheeks turned what was already an arresting face into something edgy. Sexy.
It was the look in his eye that was her ultimate undoing, though. She was lost, scorched by the naked emotions she glimpsed lurking within that black pool. That eye was burning with a restless intensity, with a familiar emptiness she recognized as loneliness, and a primal hunger which left her knees wobbly and her pulse kicking like a wild broncos.
When she'd found him behind her, she'd instantly recognized the restlessness, but she'd never met anything like the hunger that prowled within him. It was alive, a tangible and almost animalistic being that reached out and touched her, compelling her to touch it, to satiate it. There was a pull deep in her belly, a reactive urge to comfort him, to bring him surcease, to ease the longing. It was, she knew, a purely instinctive and biological response. Damaged she might be, Sienna was still a woman full grown. She knew desire when she saw it, felt it. It was why, when the shimmer of want came, she didn't try to fight it. No, she reached for it, stepped towards it, into it. To hell with the consequences.
"You're a respectable pirate when you're with me." She laid a hand on his heart. Though she couldn't feel it beating against her palm, she saw the pulse of it in his eye. "You have never been anything but a gentleman with me."
"Only with you," he rumbled. "And it is only for you, Sienna."
"And only with you am I not afraid," she said softly. "Only with you do I remember me." Her smile grew soft, distinctively feminine. "With you I can be that woman I was before I was kidnapped, drugged, nearly sold into prostitution. With you I am that woman who wouldn't think it inappropriate for her boss to kiss her."
"Is that..." he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from her own, "an invitation, love?"
Sienna quite liked the way he kissed her without quite kissing her, the way he held her without really holding her. She frequently wondered what it'd be like if he'd ever thoroughly do both. It was something she'd been thinking about a lot in the last few weeks. When his civilized mask had fallen outside Verdant, she'd been unnerved, unsettled. Yet, the moment that they'd boarded the yacht, she'd glimpsed what was hiding beneath both the sophisticated and uncivilized masks he switched between wearing. There was a good man beneath the poison and mass amounts of hate and grief. She ached to help that man. She'd decided to heal that man. Same as that man was helping to restore that woman she once had been, she'd aid him in finding that man he'd once been.
"Now what sort of lady gives a pirate permission to seduce her?" she asked him in a low, husky voice.
His lips curved against hers. "A very wise one."
Granted, staring at a computer screen was an activity that just about ninety percent of the free world all actively engaged in. Yet, Sebastian Blood wasn't checking his email, or surfing the social media websites that were so popular nowadays, or watching hilarious spoof videos on YouTube. Oh no. He was currently watching live video footage shot from inside Slade Wilson's penthouse office suite. His lips curved as he watched the James woman moving about the barely illuminated office. Utilizing the very micro-camera's Wilson had set up in order to spy on his employees (and to ensure the safety of the James woman, he assumed), they'd split the feed so that while Wilson was watching them, they could watch him.
This, he acknowledged as the James woman knelt to comb through one of the lower filing cabinets for whatever she was busily searching for, had been one of the best ideas that Brother Truth had ever had (next to killing the woman if she proved to be more trouble than worth). Indeed, the video feed not only allowed them to keep abreast of their ruthless leader's activities, but to keep tabs upon how much of their plans his precious "little one" (God, that endearment made him retch!) was able to uncover. The damned woman had managed to uncover a trail. It seemed they would need to execute Truth's plan to dispose of a Sienna James much sooner than they had planned.
His attention was transfixed as he then saw that panther-like figure slide against hers. He watched him lift his hand to the woman's cheek. It was only the slightest of movements, merely a subtle turn of his wrist really, but it was enough that it allowed him to graze his knuckles along the curve of that silky flesh. It sickened him that a man such as Slade Wilson was being gifted with one of those rare, enigmatic smiles of hers. She allowed this man the use and privilege of her body (while denying those same rights to men such as him). Those muddy eyes were gazing up at the man as if he was some sort of hero. Him! A mass murdering psychopath who had laid hundreds of bodies to waste was being treated as if he was some sort of God!
Sebastian found that he could ignore his anger, but discovered it wasn't quite as simple to ignore the little prick that might have been jealousy. His teeth gnashed, and his hands clenched upon the edge of his desk. He might have sat there, watching the couple, planning all the ways he would punish them, but Slade then lifted her. Simply scooped her up, he realized, and stood with her in his arms all in one effortless motion. Then he carried her from the room.
Hatred did a little jig in Sebastian's heart.
It was time to bring Slade Wilson to his knees. First, he would humble him; make the mercenary watch as he possessed his woman...
Then he'd kill him.
His smile was feral in the darkness.