Title: The Waking World
Disclaimer: It's really early or really late depending and I don't own anything no matter what time it is.
Warning: Slash, rape and very dark, once again.
I wake up and think it has just been a dream. But the ever-present leather bands on my wrist keep me tethered in this reality; a constant reminder of where I am and what I am.
Sleeping has never been an easy thing for me, staying up late, getting up early. A lifetime's regiment of sleep deprivation has left me forever resistance to its charms and now I pay the price because I can't sleep for more than a few hours at a time.
And I find myself wishing more than ever that this waking state was the nightmare and the small glances I see of the Titans is the reality. In my dreams that's the only place where the Titans exist now.
But dreams of the Titans only bring more pain in the waking hours.
I kick and in my sleep and call their names; reliving the good times.
I tremble and tears are lost; remembering the bad.
All of which are punishable in the waking world. I wouldn't mind so much if only the second part of the punishment after falling unconscious wasn't to be awoken soon afterward for another round; wither it be torture, sex or some new toy that Slade is egger to try.
The only thing for certain is if I'm awake, it's Slade's world.
Lately, Slade has taken new pleasure in making me find release as well. At first I was embarrassed but that quickly passed as I realized that this was another way to escape. In those few seconds that seems to last forever; I am no longer bound to a bed with that monster inside me, no longer speared through and torn.
I am in that blissful oblivion. Where there is no Slade and no Robin, only that feeling…
He loves the control he has over me and he can have it. My pride has long since been broken in that regard but these escapes are all that I have left. Those few hours in which I dream, those brief seconds of release, that short time when I wake up and don't remember what has happened…until the scent of sex and sweat comes back to me...
The door opens, he's back.
He always knows when I'm awake and asleep. Sometimes I wish he could just fuck me in my sleep. But no, I'm not that lucky and he likes me to watch him. He likes me firmly in this reality, firmly in his grasp.
He sits down and opens one arm to me and then I'm there, pressed up against him, my cheek forced almost needingly against his shoulder.
His crushes me possessively into him and then his hand is snaking up my arm, over my shoulder, up my neck and into my hair. Holding me stead by the roots, while the other hand grips my chin so that he can look into my eyes.
He likes to study my eyes. Maybe he's looking for signs that I've finally gone insane or maybe the tell-tell trail of tears? I cannot honestly say what it is that he sees there or what it is that he's always looking for but he always does this: examining my eyes as if they might have changed color in the time he has been way.
I stare back as always, eyes steady, frown in place. I don't frown for any reason in particular. It's just that any other expression requires too much effort. I faintly remember a time when I would smile and on rare occasions laugh, but my mouth has long since fallen out of practice while new lessons were being learned, new sounds being voiced.
He leans in and kisses me then. I kiss back submissively at first and then as the kiss progresses, more aggressively. This is why Slade likes me the best.
Others, he has said, become too broken over time and have to be replaced but not so with me.
There was a time when I would think about the "Others" that he has mentioned but right now I'm too engrossed in the lips pressed against mine and the tongue that is grappling for supremacy.
I become even more aggressive as I wrap my arms with their leather bands around him pulling him to me, but he suddenly pulls back. I stop, because I've done something that he doesn't like, and wait.
He looks down at me for a moment and I chance a glance up at him. I can tell by the cruel twist of his lips that, whatever he's going to say or do, I'm not going to like.
Robin, he would say, don't you know what day this is?
I know he doesn't really want an answer, just a response, so I shake my head.
It's your birthday, Robin.
Ah, yes. My birthday is a time of pain in my life now, I have been taught. As Slade is worst then than he ever was in the beginning.
I have no grasp of time here. The times of day and night, light and dark no longer apply in this world. There is only asleep, awake, and with Slade, nothing else. One day blending into the next, on and on into some endless blur of existence.
Today could be the day I was born or it could be the day I become Robin, the day that he killed the Titans, the day that he killed Bruce, the first time he ever took me for his own, the day I lost all hope, the list goes on and on. He says that all of these days are in a way my birthday.
You were changed and born anew, he would say, and change always comes with a price.
The only thing I know for sure is that tonight is going to be painful. That's Slade's gift to me. That's always his gift to me on days like this, pain, not pleasure. There would be only one escape tonight, unconsciousness.
That dreaded state where I can not dream and no visions of friends come to comfort me. It is an empty void that persists to torment me because unconsciousness only seems to last for seconds while dreams stretch out and prolong the time until I'm back in the waking world.
But whither awake or asleep, I am nude other than the sheets on the bed.
You won't need any clothing from now on, he said after that first time, and so I wear nothing. This suits him just fine because sometimes he's in too much of a hurry to stay for long and he doesn't want to waste time removing useless clothing.
How will it be tonight, I wonder as he pushes me back on the bed. His mouth once again crushed against mine in brutal domination. I respond, but the aggressiveness is gone. I know now that he only wants total submission tonight.
His hands pull mine above my head, where he locks them into the waiting chains. His hands trail over my bare chest and stomach before he moves from the bed and I watch as he starts to strip his own clothing.
I hear the clank of armor hitting the hard floor and I know he doesn't want his caged hero tonight. Not that stubborn idealist that always has a clever retort. No, he wants his broken toy that lies beneath. Totally submissive and accepting of whatever Slade wants.
The truly sad thing, as Slade gets into position without stretching and without lube, is that this broken toy is the reality and the caged hero only the dream.
A/N – This has been on my computer for a while but it is updated now for two reasons. One: I re read a fic that had me inspired and Two: I wanted to give Wnyja a gift for listening to all my crazy ideas that seem to jump out at me in the morning. I have to go to sleep now and I'm sorry about any spelling or grammar mistakes. Oh I almost forgot, I did have Wnyja artwork "Big Boys Don't Cry" and also AloneinDarkness7's drabble based on this work on the mind if you couldn't tell but I hope you do note the differences.
Please review guys and tell me what you think.
D/2