Sladin or Bust! – Explicit One Shots From the Vault of Sladin /

/

WARMER IN THE WINTER

(Yes, based on Lindsey Sterling)

/

In all its holiday glory, we final have a semi – decent premise! Slade is on a job and in Denmark miles away, kills the legendary draug hunting Sana with his immortal weapon. Or just kills him period. Figuring out by a moon's glow that he IS the real deal, Slade steals the man's suit and by dear jingle all the fucking way, he has no choice but to continue the tradition or ruin a bunch of children's dreams. Done partly in rhyme sequence because of the suit's magic, Slade's slips into the home of a seriously cookie deprived little bird. Guess who? To keep mum on the issue, Slade makes a deal to let said bird service the holly jolly stacked man – for a chance to finish delivering the children their damned gifts.

Will the job get done if that stinking bird is just as clung on to him as Santa's reindeer? Find out!

/

Once upon a midnight -

No, wait. Not that one. Heaven forbid!

/

Our story has been told a number or so reasons; fir tonight of all nights, under a full moon in this season…winter is festive and colorful and real.

Yet that won't catch at all our reader's appeal.

"This is as far as you'll go, trespassing freak!" Slade Wilson will begin our story so bleak. The red of his hands, all coated and crusty. The man he is in fact not wandering after, rusty. The man's beard is pure white, almost touching the earth. Not a single tear shed full of laughter and mirth. "Mistakes will be made if you slay me right here." Says the man with a red sack, and a white curly beard. "You've got it all wrong, how can you be so callous? To not see through the fog of your own ingrained malice." Spoke the saint as he noted the fight his pursuer drove forth, the knives in his grip, and a hand to the reins of the jolly Nick's shorts. His belt tugged down and so too did the man, fall flat in the snow of the rooftop and clamber, uncanny!

And so did he squirm. There was no way out in sight.

"Sorry to disturb you, but have a very, pleasant, silent night!" Down went the mystic blade Slade had borrowed from a God long ago. The red flecks of life lost, reflected on the snow. The moon glowing on high as Slade dropped his blade to gasp –

"Sonovan birch…." He'd been, the biggest ass.

He'd killed the man in question. That holly jolly dope. "Ah – uh. Nada. Zilch." The answer was a great, big "nope."

"I'M NOT GUILTY ABOUT THIS." Slade sheathed his mighty blade. His mind couldn't help but want to keep up this awful charade. If there was a Santa, and now he was dead ….

"What the hell do I do now?" Came the guilt on, and the dread. As Slade paced the rooftop, the suit there and no man! He'd simply vanished, like magic as many elves do and can.

"He left it behind? Was this as cursed as his stories? Peculiar." Slade plucked up the red with fingers as gory. Coated in blood that was once mortal and kind. The good Nicholas was nowhere to find.

"I have no other choice, traumatized I might make them." He took on the suit, as easily hexed and decided to take them. All eight of the reindeer, as if under the curse that those who should cull Santa, would not be driving their own hearse. Yet a sleigh for the children, the good, cute and mellow. The ones well deserving of knowing this kind of fellow. Slade knew it was too late to turn back around, so he got the reindeer going to scale atop the town.

Rooftops and chimneys, he was still in Denmark, he knew. On the list magically appearing…he knew just what he had to do.

/

Houses upon houses and no end in sure sight, he did not delight in so serious this mystical challenged plight; for hunger came so soon that each cookie might have soured his gut, he needed fresh produce. So, he said;

"You know what? I know just the place. It would be one quick stop."

Away the reindeer went, to not give his poor belly a decent pop.

Since all those milk and cookies, were certainly enough. Even if he could heal his intestinal woes, it would still take many hours for the food left to go, and evacuate he knew. So, he puzzled and puzzled no more. For he knew what to do. And he knew for a fact that this person, would never react…

/

He landed it promptly atop an apartment in Blud New Jersey. A shoddy town maybe, yet the man was quite thirsty. He found no chimney and had to not delay. Tomorrow was Christmas, what horrible day without any presents, and cookies half bitten. He'd be coy as a cat or quiet as a kitten. In through the window the bull tried to go. His sack put up much resistance, yet that could not do, so?

Slade was as strong as Santa; he could handle this haul. Thankfully though, only a few gifts might fall. "He'll get over it." Snorted the disgruntled male. "Somehow, I imagine." This was not part of the plan.

He did however manage to save one small box. A ring could fit in it, so sly as a fox…

He snuck well inside, his arm finding the latch. "This kid came from Gotham, is he certainly no match for me, and tonight with the lock…" The male let his words drop, for on the hardwood he saw something that made his rock-hard balls drop.

Dick Grayson was only about nineteen and counting, yet to see him intoxicated and red from an outing of holiday parties and body glued to the sofa. Well, he ignored said hard section and moved towards the star – the star of the tree that sadly was bare this year. It looked, so lonely. Was the little bird waiting for it to be –

"Ehum."

Slade turned back to the young man in his post sand man's bliss. "Hiya, Santa baby…. wanna gift me a kiss?"

/

Slade stood with the presents and the sack all in tow. From Dick's clouded stare, he had nowhere left to go. With a heave, he left the gift sack over by the sad looking tree. His bird looked so tired, and he?

Very hungry.

"I do hope your daddy doesn't find out that you drank." The man went on with his gloved thumb to the boy's blushing cheek. "A new year's worth of liquor. You most certainly have been naughty..."

"Then punish me like you mean it…" The boy yawned, back bared and his legs, now parted. "Come on, Santa. Show me that festive full spirit, because you know that you want me."

Slade shrugged down his hands and got to giving this boy some good reason, why children shouldn't miss behave. For yet, this the season.

Mostly the big, not the small. Because at Grayson's age, he wasn't tiny at all. "That ass is as red as my reindeer's nose." He gawked at those perfectly, cylindrical globes. "Can you hurry it up?" The impatient, drunken boy drawled. "I'm supposed to be in bed. Come on Santa. Aren't you hard at all?"

Slade choked in his throat, his red cheeks soon a bright red. "How many times must I get this into your thick head" He finally pulled down the kid's pants, the red telling him to chance it. "I might have a hard on now, and it's not thanks to ole" Prancer." (This is parodying DC's silent night special. Go read!)

"Come on, Santa!" The boy wiggled and just wouldn't listen. Slade saw that his tears all just, a – glisten. "We haven't got all night. I can see that you're busy."

"You have no idea, brat. But now you've gotten me in a tizzy."

"It's what I do best, so? Just stick it right in. I'm not a slot machine that you know you can't win."

"You're worth more than gold coins." Slade grabbed at the sight. His hand dipping into a soft flesh of all times better than tonight. Pulling it loosely away, he spied a supple enough spot. "I'll deck those halls nicely, so make sure those jingle bells, rock!"

Dick whined in his throat as Slade smacked his tight ass. The crevice between twisted up from this crass and unusual method, that a Santa should still a crying child with. Pass.

Not a very decent thrill for a mother, but he? Oh, he would have a ball! Dick just rocked back and onto the holy man's gall. "More, I want it so bad, I want it all!" He pushed in and demanded.

The bells on Santa's suit might have not been handled as well as one fell, to the crack of that perfect ass. "Slade! What are –

The sound was cut off, without another deafening smack.

The boy had no time to gasp as the bell ended up by his exposed and numb ass crack. "Mind if I give you a show, all on my own?"

Slade took up the large jingle bell and rubbed it into that slick heat, as his other hand slapped while the boy seemed so meek. "Slade, it's cold and tickles, stop messing around." The old Saint finally took to his cock as into that hole, his cock was ground.

The boy kept keening out. "Ah, that feels so hot! Put it in, papa elf!" He bobbed his poor head like an elf on the shelf. "With pleasure, and with everything I've got." The man took the bell and then, thrust it in. Now their copulation could really begin.

Instead of his hot Christmas grandpa, he had and always somehow trusted- the bell went right in. It was magic, oh my!

(THIS WASN'T IN THE SCRIPT!)

"What did I tell you the very last time?" Slade's cock followed after; those thighs pulled apart. "You are a hero, so you should act the part. No drinking before you've gotten reason to, Dick."

"I wanted you so much, you never came home..."

And with that, it all clicked.

"Why did you leave me? Catalina ruined me first, were you after just this?" He wiggled upon the man's hard girth.

Dick had certainly rehearsed, for his eyes were shining wetly. "I got your daughter to become a hero, and we still were this close…who is it then? Me?" He started off adding. "Or…or Santa's ghost. Pick one." Dick stopped, his breath even as Slade's member had stilled. "Believe me, you rascal. None of this has me thrilled. I'm talking in rhyme - yes, I was quite aware."

~ IT'S TO HELP THE STORY ALONG –

"For the record, I don't care."

Slade hugged the boy round his middle till his beard was plastered closer. "At least this December I didn't buy you a toaster. Your apartment could use one."

"Like a kick in the teeth?" Muttered the former boy wonder.

"No, but look by the kitchen, if you'll please."

On the stool there before him he saw a small, bright blue wrapped ring box. "What is that thing?"

"I know you replaced half of the locks, and I thought it high time…" Slade nuzzled in to now whisper, over said teen's shoulder. "That this madam I'm holding should stay close to their mister. What do you say, a truce for only tonight? You know you want me. It's written in plain sight. The tree was left like that so you could spite me, I know it."

~ So does your ex, alright? ~

Dick rolled his eyes.

"I though the job well, you just might blow it."

"Go open my gift, it's more for us than for you."

"Don't I know it"

Dick moved out from under this hulk of bone and sinew. Of muscle and sweat, his limbs made of rubber. He scrambled over quickly and lifted up his present. "Now?" He asked cautiously.

"It doesn't bite, so go ahead." Slade said. "Open it, before it's the end of December."

And before this damn rhyming got lost in his head. The last thing anyone wanted, was to sing limericks all year. ...

The wrapping was rather if not intricately kept seamless, oh dear! He saw that the man must have had an awful important reason. Until he saw the box, velvet and wrinkled his nose. "Are you proposing to me?"

"I won't tell, the man chuckled. "Yet I suppose in a way, you could call it that, maybe."

So, Dick Grayson opened the box, body swaying over, arms wrapped over the man as a present laid bare. The words from his lips lastly being; "Of course I'll move in with you, Santa Baby!"

/

It got rushed by the end, but yep. Also, Dick is more like a sugar baby in this crap and Slade entertains him. Or he is quid pro quo without batman knowing. I'm bad. I had an idea to make Grinch Slade and Cindy loo hoo Dick originally, but that might be a T themed one. Happy holidays!!