A/N: Ye be warned. Smut.
It was all so wrong. This wasn't the Slade that she was accustomed to battling. He was breaking character, fiddling with their regular pattern. A few punches, he was always vanquished, and then she could sleep easy at night until the next round.
A bump gulping up and down her throat, she braved another question:
"What happened to my powers?"
Whispered, he was barely able to hear her whimpering.
"To explain that to you would require time that we do not have, dear girl," he responded darkly. "All you need to know is that you have none. And trying to utilize them at any time will only result in disappointment."
Unsatisfied, she squished her face up, bitter. In addition, she gave another flare of kicks to get out of his hold on her, feeling weak and defenseless in his obnoxious arms.
"Spit it out, Slade! I'm not going to wait all day for another cryptic explanation!"
Musing his response, a wicked one flicked across his brain waves, he peered down.
"Do not worry, girl, I will tell you," he began softly, his vibrato purring. "If you perform well tonight."
Confused for a flash, she realized just what he was insinuating, as if he wasn't clear about it before.
His explanation was more than unsettling, it was horribly horrific. Vomit rose in her throat, the legs he clenched onto shook, clammy sweat sprouted all over her body, prickling and swaying the terrified goose bumps.
It was easy to gag, it was hard to protest, to scream, to resist when the body was shell shocked. Basic instinct directed her, and a bubble of stomach content coughed out, not that she had anything left.
He rolled his one eye and began walking forward; a little sickness was not going to delay the inevitable. With calculating precision, he placed her down on the repulsing blankets, the silk caressed her open skin. Until now, she had not realized how little she wore, all of her clothes torn and shredded- barely enough for a slapdash of covering.
She focused on the blood red coloring of the despicable sheets, barely able to feel, numb to the enveloping of comfort that brushed against the open holes of flesh. Suddenly, she scrunched the blankets in her hand, her knuckles going white with stress and anxiety.
The dumb epiphany of what was meant to be came like a tidal wave over her senses. Breathing hitched into hyperventilation, her heart thumped as fast as stomping hooves, blasting her ears into deafness with the horrible throb of veins and blood.
Weak and weary, she knew that fighting this would prove fruitless, what was the point? Where was the mercy? The goodness of humanity became lost, without a solid or purposeful definition- she broke down upon the bed.
No longer did she have to worry about glasses shattering or rooms disintegrating when her true feelings were released Her abrupt dissolution into weeping was as much of a freedom as a burden. The tears flowed rapidly, uncontested, unadulterated.
Already half blind, he strode quietly to the edge, gripping the elegant wooden frame tightly as he peered upon the hysterical girl. If he had been normal, it might have offended him- she obviously found him to be too repulsive; however, he was unable to conjure any real feeling of empathy for her situation.
She had chosen the life of the hero and, sooner or later, all who treaded that path had to pay the consequences. She was lucky that her life continued in his presence. Should he say anything, or simply begin the process?
Waiting wasn't going to make it any easier for either of them, so why not?
Shrugging callously, he unbuckled his steel belt, expertly pulled his feet away from their leathery shelters, and unclipped a variety of clasps. Although her silent sobs did not stop, they did become less noticeable; she yanked her head away from him, refusing to acknowledge his actions.
Slaughterhouse, he was starting to stiffly pull off his uniform, she caught a glimpse of his bleached skin. Of course pale and bright from all the years under the black clothing, it almost hurt her eyes, it was unnatural.
Luckily, she was turned away enough, her sight blurry enough, that she refused to acknowledge the man shedding before her. He wasn't going to, he couldn't- this wasn't him, this wasn't the game he played. Thousands of times, every second, she sank deeper into denial.
Oxygen depleted, she couldn't suck in enough clean air- it was all foul. A couple times she choked out her situation:
"I….I…I….can't-" sitting straight she wheezed and panted, dry spit falling from her cracked lips.
Her grip on the covers loosened, she was going to faint, and for once she was content with showing weakness. That meant he couldn't touch her. A smirk, she withheld her inhalations, and awaited the oncoming black, a loophole.
Scrutinizing the obvious situation, he quickly came around to her, noting how her face was beginning to match the color of her hair. Expertly, he gave her back a quick whack, trying to shock her out of her delusion.
The hit came from behind, and although it bruised her spine, she was jolted into regularity. Expanding, her lungs began to work properly, tempting her to breathe. An idiotic plan ruined, she clung desperately to it.
"If you don't open your mouth, I will," he threatened, his mask still clasped on- dressed only in a tight black shirt and a pair of shorts, he was able to keep his menacing aura, and she gulped.
Nonetheless, she held her quivering jaw, and swallowed down the urge to respire. His eye narrowed.
At an inhuman rate, he grabbed a hold of her jaw and pulled down, while his other hand snagged onto her hair and tugged the opposite direction. Her scalp felt like it was splitting, while her chin broke, but she fought, and lost easily.
Too soon, her mouth was gaping, and while it was in position he gave an elbow to her stomach- light but solid, and she lurched forward, unable to keep her body from performing from its basic function.
A surge of air forced its way into her body, reviving her organs and blood. The poignant embrace of continuing consciousness was unwelcomed by her desperation.
"Really, Raven," he said, and she glared up, her chest heaving violently. "Swooning is beneath you."
A flush of anger boiled in her body, and she struck out, her emaciated wrists snapping out grotesquely. Catching it, she sensed a smile beneath his still intact mask. Evilly, he tugged her hand to the side of his split façade, forcing her to tenderly trace his metal guise.
It took another grind of her bones to get control of her hand back, but the point was made. All too fast, her rage and anxiety sent a chill of butterflies through her organs, thumping of the heart beating.
The lights went dim.
She cocked her head in all directions as she heard the light whoosh of more clothes falling to the carpeted floor. She could see his bending outline, but could not see the man in full flesh, his mystery intact.
Closer he came, and she thrashed again to no avail as he snatched her arms in cold, thick-skinned hands, the shock of his touch sending a current of electricity- sparking her eyes in dilation. Black and wide, she could not deny the sensation.
Curious, her fears abated for a millisecond, before they crashed again in her mind. Feebly, she tried again, to get away somehow, there had to be a way out. Where was the team? Where was Robin?
Playing the role of the damsel, the hideous monster holding her captive made a move. In her petrified confusion, he snaked his fingers closer to her chest- the nails crawling onto the remnants of her leotard.
Noticing far too late, she cried out for him to stop, but he had already ripped the rest of it away. Shreds of shreds barely covered her body, and he held her hands away, not allowing her shame to be hidden from his one-eyed sight.
A twisted passion, he slowly, sickly pushed her back down into the center of the bed. Her foot instinctively kicked up in defense, he dodged and more aggressively pressed her into the awfully, silky-smooth sheets, his knees nailing her down.
Fatigued, she still struggled beneath his bare chest, not noticing the strength that flowed and punctuated every inch of his body. Nor did she acknowledge her own nakedness, pretending to fantasize that they were simply fighting, that was all.
He wanted more than that, however. In the madness, their eyes connected, her phobia of intimacy finally ebbing in the deep navy-black of his inky eye. For a moment, her biology instructed her to comply, but her brain said otherwise, and much more loudly.
Wriggling under the pierce of his intense gaze, she sought a reprisal from the nightmare about to be carried out, but there was none. Swiftly, she felt him near her, too near, his body completely lowered into hers, destroying innocence.
Threads of oblivious denial withering by the ice of his touch, she quivered as his mouth brushed into hers. In pitch black, she couldn't even use her hands to see him, feel the texture of his obscure face or dark hair- or even the sick look on his face as it fell into psychotic pleasure.
The outlines of his tendrils hung in spikes, sometimes the white of his eye was interrupted by his own hair seeping down. She felt it sway like frozen grass against her, shivering, he was all cold, no warmth, nothing but a glacier.
Tensed, it didn't get any better. This was supposed to be magical, hot, and wanted- but it was the opposite. Cold and painful, there was nothing she could do while he groped her. Frigid tickling fingers that danced all over her broken body, his action became less organized and more impassioned.
So unaware of acceptance, his weight was crushing her, he let go of her arms and settled for the small of her back as he lifted her into him. Now the lightning of frostbite struck her spine as she felt nothing but his stroke, his push.
A true marionette, he pulled her string and she was just his toy, the best plaything he ever had. From above he saw everything, the discomfort on her features, the pain laden in her violet eyes, her clothes ripped beside her, he scoured all of her.
Searching for more, he found nothing, not a hint, and his silent rage exploded. His brute vigor pounded into her bones, and he heard her as she begged for an end, not even remembering the words she had used, only the clear angst in her voice.
His grip became too much, she was sure her arm was breaking. The humiliation of the event was blindsided by a new ache, a score of new injuries sprouting in indigo blotches. Sore, he finally saw her distraction, the loosening of her tight will.
She had allowed a different impression of pain to distract her and, finally, her bones began to sag and mold into him. His glacial flesh became hers as she was engulfed into his spectrum of emotion. In the intense kiss where his sharp, snake teeth bled her lip, she understood the war of fury within his iron, cold steel core.
The drips of her blackened blood oozed down her pale neck and, he, entrance by the flowing, decided to slither his tongue out and lap it up. The salty flavor of dried tears and hopelessness sated his craving, and he took a good deal of time swallowing it.
Undeterred, he went in again, his canines breaking any skin they could while his nails dug erotically into her stomach and back, his branding everywhere.
The pain was unnoticed, she was beginning to numb. Nerves did not respond as he erupted and violated every inch of her, her eyes went just as dark as his, but when his all-seeing eye noticed her limp nature, she would know to moan or groan, just to abate his ruthlessness.
He knew she was playing along but, at the moment, he could not care. A woman, a beauty at that, was being pleasured beneath him and not screaming at the sight of him, rare.
Her legs wrapped around him, and he noticed the curling of her toes when he struck out at her or when he snapped his jaws too hard on her skin.
The entrée was done, and he was ready for her useful purpose. Although he could have bruised, beat, and kissed her for the rest of eternity, the sociopathic plan was beginning to throb in his mind.
She knew what was happening the moment he began to shift. He untangled her legs and began to plant his corrupted seed in her treacherous womb. Gasping at the pain, the warmth, the inexplicable sensation that blossomed throughout her nervous system and dazzled the crevices of her mind, it was a feeling she had never experienced, something that could not be recycled or outdone.
As much as she hated, truly loathed, to admit it, her senses were screaming in delight. But just as stunning as it had been, it ended. The cool rush of wind chilling her back into the reality of ache- it was all feeling and sound, a cornucopia of ambiguous emotion. Was this love?
The sizzling in her stomach told her so many different stories of what she was supposedly undergoing. Squinting, she still could barely make out a face.
His eye had been observing carefully the entire time. At first, she had pushed him away, resisting. Then, her face had fallen into split sides, warring between self-loathing and craving. This continued, he studied the quickening heave of her chest, the twitching of her fingers as they grabbed onto him, unknowingly.
She was a lamb, and he had defiled her, sacrificed her to his own schemes, perpetuating her fastening demise. While she was entranced by the initial, new impression, he had scrutinized where the mark was spreading, it was all over her shoulders- the infection of his brand cocooning her entire back.
He left her body with a smirk, and lowered down again for another round- a glutton for savagery.