A/N - Features fem!Dick aka Grayson Richards and male!Tarantula aka Ceferino Flores.
I headcanon Grayson and Slade as not meeting until Robin was 18 (in the Teen Titans) for my own comfort. It's not relevant to the fic, though.
TW - Rape and rape aftermath. Also some lemons ahead, read at your own risk.
The rain made her shiver, but it wasn't cold.
How - when - how had she fled his apartment? She couldn't remember any of the details of her escape. A plunge off the balcony? A wriggle through a ventilation shaft? A frantic burst out of his front door and then a desperate stairwell to the roof? The roof - oh.
No.
Bad thoughts. No roofs.
How could she not remember leaving but remember every other thing that had happened inside his damn apartment, on that other roof, inside her. Body frozen, mind remembers; body in motion, mind forgets. How the hell was that helpful?
Helpful - help. She needed help. Nightwing never needed help. But she did. She had. Why had she let him - why - why had he - she couldn't stop shivering, God damn the fucking rain. She didn't even know where she was, and she knew Bludhaven better than she knew herself. Fuck.
No.
Bad thoughts. No fucks. None. Forget forget forget. Where the fuck was she - fuck. No fucks! Goddammit!
She was still Nightwing. Come on, Grayson. Focus. Safehouse. She needed a safehouse. One Tarantula didn't know about - one B didn't know about either, for that matter. Think, Grayson. Where the fuck are you?
NO FUCKS. SHIT. STOP.
Ok. Okokok. Lost. Not lost. Landmark. Find a landmark. Nothing looks right. Goddamn rain! She was wet - too wet, but she'd been dry, so dry - goddammit stop. Stop. Stop thinking. Stop. Safehouse. Focus. Slade.
Slade?
Slade. She had his number. He'd put it in her phone when he'd patched her up that time, yelled at her to call him for backup before she went in alone against an entire mob again - "You have options that aren't Batman, little bird. Try using them next time instead of getting yourself killed."
God, he'd been mad. Fuming at her stupidity - reckless. That's what he'd called her. Reckless and arrogant and immature and -
"Kid?" When had she pulled her phone out? How - where was she? Why didn't she recognize this street? She should know this street!
"Kid?" he repeated, sounding slightly concerned now. Huh. Sweet of him to be worried. Slade sweet and Cefirino treacherous. God - Fuck - NO. DAMMIT.
"Nightwing, talk to me," Slade snapped, sharp and clear like an axe.
"'M lost," she mumbled, scowling bewildered at the rooftops surrounding her. Roof - no. Fuck. NO. DAMMIT.
" - wing, are you drugged?" she suddenly tuned into Slade barking in her ear. "I'm tracking your phone, sit tight," he ordered, without waiting for an answer. Or maybe he had waited. Had he? "I'll guide you to a safehouse."
"K," she muttered, wrapping her free arm around her waist as she shivered, but the rain was so warm. It shouldn't be making her cold. It was April. It was -
"Start moving. Any direction. Need to figure out which way you're facing." She nodded, and her feet began moving, and her arms remembered how to grapple (why couldn't she remember how she left - but she remembered too much - she -)
"Turn left." Ok. Easier, with Slade in her ear. Just listen to Slade. A hysterical giggle burst from her lips.
"Kid?" he gruffly demanded.
"Listening to you. All you ever wanted me to do, huh?" she glibly explained. "You and B both. Except I didn't - I didn't -" she stuttered to a horrified halt, mouth and feet.
"Keep moving," Slade ordered. Ok. She could take his orders. Hadn't broken his rule. Broken - broken trust - broken promise - broken - "Pick up the pace."
Ok. She exhaled in relief. Just listen to Slade and don't think. She could do this.
She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at herself in a scalding hot shower that faded to lukewarm to freezing cold before she gave up and got out, feeling just as contaminated and vile as before she'd stepped in.
All she had with her was her Nightwing suit, which - ugh. She'd have to redesign it, maybe. Couldn't look at it now without wanting to vomit. At least she had an IUD, not that she'd ever had occasion to need birth control before. She'd been with Kori for so long, until - until - her breath hitched with an aborted sob.
Slade had a dresser full of clothes, so Grayson pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt that smelled like him, and then buried herself in one of his sweatshirts that hung way past her butt, halfway to her knees, before climbing into bed and curling up in a little ball underneath the covers.
"Slade? I thought you were out of town." A tiny flame of pleasure flickered to life in Grayson's soul as she turned around from the coffeepot whose slow drips had been her meditation.
"I was," he said gruffly, slinging his tactical bag down to the spotless tiled floor of his kitchen, his brawny biceps bulging against the tight knit of his long-sleeved black t-shirt. Grayson swallowed a lump in her throat. She'd never seen a more beautiful sight than Slade in this moment, covering his concern with a false huff of irritation that did nothing to distract her from his lone eye roving over her, scanning for injuries.
She met him halfway as his heavy steel-toed boots clomped through the small kitchen, but she was surprised when two roughly calloused hands suddenly cradled her face with a gentleness she hadn't known he was capable of. A happy, needy cry half-slipped out of her throat before she could stifle it, and she wrapped her arms around his waist to softly press her lips to his.
The hands on her cheeks faltered for a mere instant, but then regained their grip. He began kissing her back, with a much louder, needier groan that washed away her mild embarrassment. Grayson whimpered into his tongue, opening her mouth for him and welcoming him inside as she hauled herself even closer into his chest.
An approving growl met her ears, and an arm slipped around her waist and pulled her in tight. Fingers tangled up in her hair as he kissed her with the passion of a suddenly exploding soda bottle that had long been repressed, patiently waiting for the first opportunity to break free.
Grayson gasped into his kisses and trembled into his warm bulk, the buzzing bees under her skin lulled to sleep by the calming smokescreen of Slade's hands. The phantom assault that had been plaguing her body evaporated under his touch, ghosts melting away under real fingers, real mouth, and real muscles pressed up against hers.
Her kisses became desperate as she clung to him, and Slade groaned low in his belly.
"Bedroom?" he panted out to her.
"Yeah," Grayson smiled back.
"I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome, little bird," he smirked as he scooped her up and balanced her on his hip one handed while she wrapped her legs around his waist.
"You complaining?" she grinned at him.
"Never," he swore with a fire in his eye that made her bury her face in his sandalwood-scented neck with a smile to hide her sudden giddiness.
She'd felt the shift in their relationship over the last year, as a newfound sexual tension began coating their now oddly flirtatious banter during their never-too-serious fights. Not that they didn't fight each other hard - Slade loved challenging her, and Grayson loved to impress him.
But no matter how annoyed he got with her for interfering with his contracts, he never went for blows that would seriously injure her, and she knew with certainty that he'd never kill her.
She'd been surprised that he'd showed up to the mob meeting she'd interrupted that night, months back. And yeah, there'd been more muscle there than she'd been expecting - a lot more - but it had seemed like her one chance to take down the big players, so she'd rushed in. Stupidly, as Slade had pointed out to her, repeatedly and angrily.
He hadn't been wrong. If he hadn't shown up for a prearranged meeting about a job just when she was going down … she shuddered. His hands had been so gentle while his words had been so vicious as he patched her up afterwards, seething with an anger that she'd slowly realized was covering fear and concern. He'd been scared. For her. Because - because -
Because of this, she guessed, as he carried her one-handed to his bedroom.
"It's stupidly hot that you're so strong," she mumbled into his neck. "Show off."
"Said the pot to the kettle," Slade chuckled, making her giggle.
"You like when I show off," Grayson smiled up at him.
"So do you," he laughed back. She giggled again and nuzzled her head into his bulky shoulder, determinedly pushing all other thoughts aside. Slade was here, and Slade was tangible, and Slade was gonna fill her up and rewrite the vicious playback loop running through her body and brain.
Whether she got off or not was irrelevant. She'd get touched by someone she chose. She'd imprint on Slade's hands and mouth and cock and then Cef and his ghoulish remnants would have to leave her alone, because she'd be too full of Slade for them to compete.
It was a fantastic plan, if Grayson said so herself. Slade set her down on his bed and she quickly scooched backwards to lean against the headboard, decidedly sitting up. He gave her an approving once (or twice - no, thrice) over as he pulled his boots off.
"I like seeing you in my clothes," he commented with a sexy smirk.
"I like wearing them," she admitted, for reasons that had nothing to do with sex, but he didn't need to know that.
Boots off, Slade growled low and feral as he prowled towards her, crawling in between her legs until he was kneeling in front of her. He startled her by brushing his fingers backwards against her cheek, an oddly soft gesture from a man she'd thought was all hard edges.
"Been wanting you here, like this," he gruffly admitted as his thumb traced the angles of her face.
"Me, too," Grayson whispered, reaching out for his comforting bulk. Something soft and fragile bloomed in her chest from the roots that had formed in the seed he'd planted months and months ago, and a smile tickled the edge of her lips. The corner of Slade's mouth crinkled, too, as he leaned in to kiss her, slow and deliberate.
A balloon of feelings exploded in Grayson's heart, and suddenly her hands were cradling Slade's head, petting his locks, tracing silly circles against his scalp as he melted into her, leaning his bulk against her chest as he kneeled in-between her legs. One hand skimmed her hip and teased the edges of her t-shirt while the other cupped her face as they continued to kiss like he couldn't bear to let her go.
Which was just fine with Grayson; she didn't want him to let her go. Ever. Let Slade consume her, possess her, rewrite her DNA until every cell in her body hummed with Slade instead of Cef, instead of Mirage, instead of self-loathing. Almost as if he'd read her mind, he pulled back for a second and pierced her soul with his razor sharp gaze.
"This isn't a one-night stand for me," he told her.
"Me, neither," Grayson smiled with affectionate relief. Slade's smile actually cracked his face this time, before he began pressing soft, possessive, flicks of tongue into her mouth, claiming every sigh, every breath as his, with hungry moans of approval.
Grayson gave them up willingly, slowly melting under the man she not only trusted, but wanted. Her choice. Finally.
"I love you," flew out of her mouth before she could help it. Slade groaned.
"Little bird, I have loved you for so long," he told her in a voice raw with emotion. Grayson's smile flickered brighter, and she had to sniff away the tears in her eyes. Slade stroked a rough hand through her hair, some strands catching on his callouses.
"Will you marry me?" WHAT? Where had that come from - what - why - Slade was gonna freak - he was gonna leave - he was gonna - why had she even -
Slade's sharp inhale accented her absurd question, punctuating the weight of its hovering mid-air. Grayson wanted to take it back - DID SHE? - well, pretend to take it back, at least, make a joke, tell him she was teasing, but -
"Kid, I will marry you today, if that's what you want."
Grayson's breath shuddered through her body.
"You sure?" she softly asked.
"Positive," he rumbled with not a hint of hesitation. "You?" She nodded.
Yeah. She was sure. She wanted to be marked up as Slade's in every way possible. Hell, maybe they could spend their honeymoon at the tattoo parlor. She'd wear his ring, his name, his colors, anything she could to show she was claimed, protected, property of Deathstroke the Terminator, and best left the hell alone.
"Little bird," Slade murmured like a prayer, as he worshiped her with soft kisses that made her insides melt like a votive candle.
"Want to be yours," Grayson sniffed against him, appalled by her sudden rush of tears.
"You are, kid," he soothed her. "Always have been."
"Well, that's just creepy," she giggled, gratefully nestling into the palm wiping her damp cheek.
"You like it, though," he smirked.
"Yeah," she sighed, deep in her soul. "I do. Always have."
"Me, too," he smiled back at her. Grayson hummed contentedly as Slade leaned in and began pressing warm kisses to her neck, seeking out her sensitive spots while her fingers loosely tangled in his hair.
His hand trailed down her chest, only lightly skimming her breast before reaching its end goal, the edge of her t-shit. A second later and his hand was back, warm and calloused against her bare skin, while his lips teased a spot that made her squirm.
"God," she whispered, as her back involuntarily arched.
"Beautiful," Slade rumbled. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over her nipple while she trembled under him, willingly sacrificing herself on his altar of possessive desire. Her eyes sought his out, and his searing flame of approval consumed her mild self-consciousness.
She drew him in for a needy kiss that turned into several, before Slade was lifting his too-big t-shirt off of her thrumming body.
"Fuck," Grayson gulped, as Slade's lone eye devoured her half-nakedness. With a low growl, Slade stripped his own shirt off, before kissing his way down to her nipple, while his hands explored her curves.
Grayson sighed and cradled his head against her breast, as he licked and suckled her towards oblivion. Cef hadn't even touched her breasts before he'd stuck his dick in her, and then he'd squeezed the life out off them while he raped her. Mirage had feasted on them like a drunk lunatic, but - this wasn't Mirage, or Cef.
It was Slade, who was apparently as skilled and precise with his lovemaking as he was with his killing, and so gentle that her eyes had to flutter away her tears. She almost wished she could hide them, but Slade's gaze went so soft when he saw them, as he gazed up at her with her breast in his mouth.
He hummed around her nipple, soothing and low like she was a frightened animal, as he tenderly licked and teased at her nub. Grayson shuddered as a wave of desire rolled through regions she'd thought would be scorched dry for years.
Slade growled low in his throat and began kissing his way down her stomach, over the soft skin covering her firm six-pack, down to the band of his boxer shorts she'd slipped on last night to protect her. He glanced up at her as his fingers grasped the edge, waiting for permission, Grayson realized, and that made the tears actually spill over her eyelids.
She bit her lip as she nodded, and Slade went back to kissing his way down as he gently tugged the shorts off of the hips that she lifted up for him. The low moan that he let out at seeing her naked, spread out before him in a lazy lean against the headboard, further heated up her no-longer-quite-so-barren-desert core.
He quickly unbuttoned his pants and slid them off with his boxers, and then it was Grayson who moaned.
"God, you look so good," she murmured, like she was talking to the last Snowball snack cake at the gas station mini mart.
"Yeah?" he smirked, but she caught the pleased pride that he couldn't quite hide, puffing up his chest.
"Yeah," she breathed out, reaching out for him. He grinned and kneeled over her lap as his cock met her greedy palm. They both groaned as Grayson reached for the back of his neck to pull him into a deep kiss.
She'd never held a cock before. She had no intention of informing Slade of that little fact, especially since she'd had one inside her - twice - against her will - but, God, it was nice to finally know what one felt like in her hand. And even nicer that it was Slade's.
Smooth and warm and hard, thicker than her escrima sticks, and even more delicious to hold. She vowed to learn his cock even better than she knew her twin babies. Slade seemed eager to help with the lessons, as he gently rutted into her closed fist, making little grunts and sighs as his ridges met the contours of her palm.
She hummed into the kisses she kept pressing into his mouth, greedily gobbling as much of him as she could get, with his cock as her anchor. One of his hands began inching down her stomach, petting her soft mat of curls, teasing a fingertip into the slightest opening of her slit.
Grayson sighed into his mouth and pressed her legs open wider against his knees in invitation. His finger dipped lower. She tensed up when he gently flicked over her still dry clit, and he didn't linger before diving deeper, seeking out her wet core.
He was almost there, and she was so ready for it - ready for him to touch her, to slide his finger into her slick, to tease the edges of the trembling cavity that she was desperate to sign over to him for immediate possession. Her smile began before his finger even grazed a single drop of moisture, and then -
"OW!" she yelped in agony, jumping back so hard that her shoulders bruised against the headboard. Hot tears were scalding her eyeballs and her chest was heaving and OHMYGOD IT HURT SO FUCKIN BAD IT HURT IT HURT -
"Shit! Sorry, kid," Slade immediately gasped. His finger was gone, and his knees were too, but she didn't notice that until her legs were closed tight and she was clenching in on herself. "Was it my fingernail?" he asked her in concern, examining his hand intently from where he'd retreated to the foot of the bed.
She shook her head no before thinking it through. Just as well, she decided a second later, because if his nails were short he'd know she was lying. Maybe - maybe -
"You think you have a yeast infection?" he asked her, crawling forward to sit at her side, but still carefully not touching her. "I know my ex used to get some that hurt like a bitch. I can go get you some medicine at the drugstore," he offered.
Grayson tried to calm her hysterical breaths. Slade was cool about yeast infections? How very evolved of him, she mused, using his surprising feminism as her meditation to keep from panicking.
"What kind of med do you like? The cream or the suppository?" A half-choked giggle flew out of her mouth. "What?" he asked, gently curious instead of irritated.
"Just - I wasn't expecting you to know so much about yeast infections," she sniffed around the tears she couldn't quite shake.
"I used to be married," he shrugged. "Saw my ex through two pregnancies and childbirths. Believe me, I've seen a lot of female shit. Some of it literal," he smirked. Grayson laughed a little easier.
"The cream would be better if your outer edge is that sore," he continued merrily along his gynecological health train. "You can rub some anywhere it hurts."
Well, if she had a yeast infection, that would be true. But - fuck. She was probably scraped and cut up from rough, dry, painful sex. Rape. Not sex. Rape. But. Had it hurt last night in the shower when she'd scrubbed and scrubbed at it? It was all so fuzzy. Like being in a fog, or an out of body experience, except for how awfully she'd been trapped IN her body, and -
"Kid?"
"Huh?" she stared blankly at Slade's furrowed brows. A slight frown made the corners of his mouth tense.
"You were drugged last night?"
Last night? Oh - right. Slade's voice in her ear. Lost. She'd been so lost. Nothing recognizable no matter where she looked. Only thing familiar was the rough voice growling out directions, so she didn't have to think - to remember - remember -
"What?" she mumbled. When had her mouth gotten so fuzzy? Slade's hand was gripping her upper arm kind of tight. It was soothing. She liked it. "We gonna have sex?" she smiled up at him. "I really want to."
"Kid, you're hurt," he said slowly.
"No!" she protested. "I'm fine! See?" she gestured down at her intact body. "No knife wounds or bullet holes anywhere," she grinned…. Bullets. Bullet holes. The gun. Cef. Walk away. I'll take care of it. The roof. The goddamn RAIN - crawling over her skin like slimy worms, eating her eyeballs, laughing at her distress -
"What happened last night?" Slade said quietly. Both of his hands were holding her face now, and that was very nice.
"I love you," Grayson smiled at him.
"I love you, too, kid," he said. "What happened last night?"
"The rain -" she frowned.
"Other than the rain." Her brain skipped like the old records her parents used to listen to, when they reached the end but just kept spinning around and around, silent on the turntable.
"Were you with Tarantula?" he asked her.
"Tarantula?" she asked him in a panic, her fingers clawing at his bare arms.
"Did something happen to him? Did you both get drugged? What do you remember?"
"FUCK Tarantula!" she snarled, shoving Slade off of her with surprising force.
"Why do you say that?" he asked her, his voice suddenly going low and quiet. "Did he double cross you?"
Double cross, triple cross, quadruple cross, how many crosses did raping her twice count as -
"He raped you?" The sheer horror in Slade's voice pulled her eyes to his slack, aghast face.
Shit. She'd said that out loud?
"Tell me," he growled, low and urgent, as he reached out and gripped her hand in his. "All of it. What happened?"
Blockbuster. Walk away. The roof. The rain. Panic. Frozen. No. No! The rain. His safe house. How - not again. Again. He was in the shower. She - left? Somehow. The GODDAMN RAIN. Lost. Lost. Lost. Slade.
She was in his arms now, bundled up tight and secure.
"I'm so goddamn sorry, kid," he said hoarsely to her hair.
"It's not like it's the first time," Grayson dully tried to comfort him. Slade froze.
"It's not?" he said carefully. She shook her head no, and then everything about Mirage was spilling out, too, like Pandora's damn box. Her teammate shapeshifting into Kori to fuck her. Losing her virginity to a goddamn rape instead of her girlfriend. The judgment. The victim blaming. The slut shaming. The breakup. Leaving the Titans.
She couldn't tell whose ragged breathing sounded worse when she was done, hers or Slade's. They sat woven together on his bed in uncomfortable silence.
"I wanted to make love to you so bad tonight," Grayson finally said. "I've been wanting to for so long anyway," she admitted with a wry twist to her lips. "But tonight I really, really wanted to."
"We will, kid," he roughly answered, before pausing to clear his throat. "As soon as you're healed up. We should get you to your GYN tomorrow to get checked out," he added. Grayson shivered and shook her head no.
"Leslie, maybe, but my GYN will do a rape kit and make notes in my chart and - I can't."
"Leslie, definitely," Slade firmly responded, but there was so much concern laced through it that she wasn't offended.
"Ok," she whispered against his chest.
"What do you need from me, kid?" he asked, gentle and raw, all his emotions scraped to the surface.
"I need you to wipe away the yuck," Grayson sighed as she lifted her head to meet his eye, his eye that was filled with tears.
"I will, little bird," he promised, wrapping his arms even tighter around her before pressing kisses into her hair. "I would tonight, if I could."
"You already were," Grayson told him with an exhausted smile. "You still are, just being here. You're my first, you know. My real first."
"Damn straight I am," Slade growled back. "And your last." He paused. "If we're still getting married, that is."
"Hell yeah, we are, old man," she smirked as she nestled closer. "And tattoos."
"And tattoos?" he drawled, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"I'm gonna get your Deathstroke mask on my ass," she giggled. Slade groaned.
"Not your ass. Your ass is perfect."
"Tramp stamp?"
Slade hummed thoughtfully.
"A tramp stamp works," he decided.
"And one for you, too?" Grayson pleaded, giving him puppy dog eyes. "With something of me?"
"A robin?" Slade grinned. "Holding a branch of blue flowers?"
"That might be too compromising," she reluctantly sighed.
"You're right. I've got it," Slade proudly boasted. "You get an oriole - they're black and orange - and I'll get a blue jay. We'll pretend to be avid bird watchers." Grayson giggled, brighter and happier than she had any expectation of being after letting all her secrets out.
"That's perfect," she smiled. "Bruce will have a fit, but I don't care."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"That we're getting married? Maybe, yeah. Afterwards. So he doesn't try to ship you off to the Phantom Zone first. But definitely not about the tattoos."
"About the rapes…?"
Grayson swallowed.
"Oh. Um. I don't know," she whispered. "I never did, about Mirage. I don't think I can about Cef without saying I let him kill Blockbuster," she teared up. "Never would've happened in the first place if I hadn't done that. Bruce would never forgive me if he knew," she gulped.
"Then he's not much of a father," Slade said firmly. "But it's your call, little bird."
"I can't cope with finding out right now how much of a father he is or isn't," she quietly answered. "I can't even cope with killing Blockbuster. Let alone all the rest."
"That's fair. I'm not pushing you to tell him, kid. Just curious," he reassured her.
"Thanks," she whispered, leaning cozier into his chest and tucking her head under his chin.
"Thank you for trusting me with the truth," he rumbled, low and sad.
"You're mine. Of course I trust you," she murmured.
"Yours, huh," he half chuckled. "I like the sound of that, Mrs. Deathstroke."
"You'd better, Mr. Nightwing," she said with a sleepy smile, closing her eyes as she nuzzled into his protective bulk.
"Like the sound of that, too," he quietly laughed.
"Gonna need to redesign my suit," she mumbled. "Can't stand to look at it anymore. I was thinking of adding some orange."
"Orange sounds good, little bird. Let everyone know you're mine."
Yeah. She was. And it was her choice.
The End
A/N - Thanks for reading! You can follow me on Tumblr at River9Noble