a little messed up

the one and only chaptet

A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

There isn’t even a real reason Dick goes to fight Slade. There’s just a general anger running through his veins, the burning feeling of a week gone wrong. When Dick sees the mercenary running through the rooftops all he can think of is, Fuck, I want to punch him .

He does. Obviously Slade sees it coming, Dick hadn’t even tried to be quiet, but the man lets him have the first shot in before manhandling Dick in turn, the constant noise of the heavy blows they give each other rhythmic like a heartbeat. There are moments of pain, dull and almost irrelevant. Dick doesn't really think about them, just lets himself run on instinct. They’ve played this game before and he trusts Slade to play fair, to leave him well enough that he can get himself home. Maybe that’s fucked up, but Dick appreciates the fight: more brutal than a spar, but mindless in its simplicity. 

 At some point there’s a lag, a moment where Dick needs to breathe. He wouldn’t have stopped, but Slade pulls back and suddenly Dick is aware of how hard he’s breathing. His chest is burning and he can feel a bruise forming on the side of his jaw. He hangs back for a moment with his fists up as he watches Slade.

“Tough night?” Slade smirks. The bastard of a man has barely lost his breath. He knows it’s not a real fight, and Dick hates that Slade’s come to know him so well, but Dick only wipes the blood running from his lip with the back of his hand and goes back in. His fist connects with something, Dick’s not even sure what, and Slade slams his hand on the side of Dicks head in return. They’re back to the numbing exchange of blows until Slade manages to knock his feet out from under him.

Dick lands on his ass, his tailbone blooming with pain in a way that tells him it’ll be black and blue by the hour. Slade doesn’t give him a moment to get up, but rather grabs Dick by the front of his uniform and drags him up the wall, brick scraping Dick’s back. When Slade continues to pull him up Dick has to hold Slade’s wrists, his toes barely able to touch the ground. 

He can’t see Slade’s eye through the white lenses of his mask, but he feels it boring into his. It’ll end here, Dick knows. Slade always lets him go when Dick’s tired himself out, and Dick’ll watch his back as he leaves. Usually the fight is enough. Once Slade wins Dick has satiated the itch under his skin.

Tonight, though? For some reason, his skin is still crawling.

It’s screaming at him, and though he’s tired he still wants to do something stupid. Something so reckless he knows he’ll regret it. He feels the weight in Slade’s fists against his shoulders and tightens his grip on the man’s arms. They’re so close Dick would have felt Slade’s breath on his if it weren’t for the stupid mask.

Before Dick can stop himself, he gulps down a breath of air and says, “Kiss me.”

It’s like a stone dropped straight to the bottom of the ocean. Dick can’t see anything under Slade’s mask, but he can feel Slade practically short circuit. The man hesitates, holds onto Dick a second longer than he would have out of surprise. It’s satisfying to watch, but Dick doesn’t wait to bask in it and wraps his legs around Slade’s waist, letting go of his arms to cup the man’s face.

The mask is rough, and Dick can’t even tell if Slade kisses back or not, but Dick is determined to mouth at him for as long as Slade lets him if only to follow through on his dumb request. Slade shoves him back after a moment, stares and him and then says, “Fuck, kid.”

Then he’s peeling off the mask and slamming his mouth into Dick’s hard enough that Dick actually pulls back in pain. But Slade’s hands are cupping his face now, forcing their mouths together. He takes a step in, until Dick is completely pressed between him and the wall, the hard ridges of their armor uncomfortably digging into each other. There’s more pain than pleasure, Dick’s bruises and cuts screaming at him. He can even taste blood as he sucks on Slade’s tongue, though he’s not sure who it belongs to. Both, probably.

He pushes his arms up Slade’s body until he can wrap his fingers in Slade’s hair. He tugs and tugs, harder each time until Slade is groaning in his mouth and his hips start grinding into Dicks. 

Dick gasps, his head falling back and breaking the kiss. He grinds back, though he can barely feel it through the armor. He’s sure it’s the same for Slade, but the idea of them doing this on a rooftop-- fuck , it sends a jolt of arousal down Dick’s body.

They stay there, hips rolling against each other, Slade letting his mouth run a wet trail up and down Dick’s neck. Slowly, their hips come to a stop so they’re just heaving against one another, holding each other. Dick’s hard, but he feels like jelly. All of his limbs are heavy like weights.

Slade pulls back, and this time Dick can see the look of consideration on his face as he grips Dick’s face in one hand, forcing their eyes to meet. Dick knows his eyes are half-lidded and blown. His hair’s a mess, chest heaving as he gulps down breath after breath. Slade smiles.

“Idiot,” He huffs, and steps back, setting Dick down on the floor. Then he turns around and leaves, and Dick just watches him go. The itch is gone, replaced with a bone-deep weariness and the warmth of arousal between his legs. He knows he’ll regret it when he has enough sleep and food in his system, but right then he stays against the wall and feels phantom lips suck on his.