Archive of Our Own ^beta

This is fucking infuriating.

Slade had spent far too many hours in the afternoon getting it all ready. Jason was off doing whatever it was that Jason did when he got bored of doing nothing, and Slade has a feeling that there would be a few more dead gutter rats before the sun had settled over Gotham’s murky, fogged hellscape.

Still, his boy deserved something sweet, thought he wasn’t likely to think it sweet. No, Slade could already see it, that pumping, throbbing vein on his neck as he shook his head. He could all but feel Jason’s hand clenching around nothing, the blackened, bloodied and bruised knuckles somehow turning white in his infuriated phantom grip.

It's all because you don’t let yourself have what you want, sweetheart, Slade thought, and perhaps one day, long since gone in a haze of bloodlust and primal need that had turned to something else, he would have been horrified by the love in his heart.

It’s okay thought, Slade angled the mirror ever so slightly and he watched as the greying sun and streaking lightning bounced along its reflective, I know what you need.

There was no way for Jason to hide from him now. Not when every inch of their bedroom was a twisted mind-fuck of adjoining, reflective mirrors. Jason would not be able to hide in the darkness of night as he had been, oh no, Slade wanted his boy brought forward and devoured on an altar.

And Slade Wilson aways got what he wanted.

Jason would too, if the kid ever decided to actually take it. If he ever learned that he was actually worth something. But he has me now, and I’ll make him learn one way or another.

**

There was something wrong, Jason knew that much. When he’d left that morning, an itch under skin and his soul calling for bloodied violence, the apartment had been untidy. It wasn’t exactly Jason’s fault, not entirely anyway… How was it his fault that Slade had a thing for seeing Jason dressed up in his own clothes?

Slade had a goddamned thing for everything…

They’d fucked against the window first, and even now Jason could feel the cold of the glass against him. He felt Slade’s weight behind him, hot and slicked with salt that Jason had licked off those delightfully tight muscles.

Jason looked to the window, and when he looked past the skyline of eternal grey dampness, he felt his nipples harden beneath his shirt and there was a ripple of sweet, syrupy pain. They were still pink, and tender having been licked and sucked and bitten enough that even the memory was enough to get his cock to stir.

Slade had fucked him into the couch next, ruthless and not easing for a moment as each stroke of his cock has pressed deeper and deeper inside of Jason. Each thrust had tinged his vision white, and it was only Slade’s iron-clad grip on the base of Jason’s cock that had stopped him from coming again and again.

Slade had, after all of that, spread Jason out on the soft, tickling fur of the rug. He hadn’t been fucked then, no Jason had instead been taken apart slowly, inch by inch until his stretched hole was begging to be stuffed and he was rutting against the rug like a bitch in heat.

He’d not looked at Slade then, he hadn’t looked at him for weeks when they fucked. Not since that vicious, knotting scar on his heart from where he had been clawed open, had been forever imprinted into the patchwork, mottled mess of raised, twisting tissue. It was a mortal wound on any other, and it should have been a mortal wound, but on Jason it wasn’t.

A freak of nature.

A perfect resurrection.

A monster.

It wasn’t exactly the type of thing he could hide away, not when Slade had been there, not when he’d tried his best to stem the outpouring flood of blood as it mixed with rain. He hadn’t been able to hide it after he’d… woken up… for lack of a better term, gasping on air with a fiery ache of angry, pulsating scar tissue.

He couldn’t hide it from Slade in the same way Slade hadn’t been able to hide the glossy haze of terror that overtook him as his fingers slid passed blood-slicked, split facia and held Jason’s heart as it stopped beating.

Nothing had been the same since then, not really. They’d tried, of course they did, but it wasn’t working. Jason knew it, Slade knew it, they both knew it. And now, it seemed, Jason realised as he surveyed the apartment, it was time Slade decided to do something about it.

That’s either a good thing or a bad thing.

“You hungry, Jase?” Slade called, and Jason did know how long he’d been standing there, hip resting against the corner of the quartz countertop, steaming mug of coffee held in his hand. “Good hunt?”

“Nobody that will be missed.” Jason shrugged. “Not really hungry though.”

He didn’t know if it was a side-effect of the so called ‘perfect’ resurrection, but since his chest had been ripped open, everything Jason ate tasted like ash and thickened into a disgusting paste in his mouth. He’d suffered through it under Slade’s knowing, watchful eyes, but he couldn’t stomach it now. Not when the adrenaline was still burning within him, not when the blood was crusting under his nails.

He wanted to get whatever was left of them off of him.

“Shower then?” Slade crossed the space until he stopped in front of Jason and his hand curled along his throat and there was a beautiful sound torn from Jason’s throat. “Nothing needs to be patched up?”

“Nothing serious.” Jason mumbled and his eyes were closed by the time Slade’s hand had cupped his cheek. “Their bruises will just meld into your bruises.”

“Then I’ll just have to mark you up again, huh, Jase? Make sure you remember who you belong to.”

There was an irritatingly half-lipped smirk that drove Jason crazy as Slade’s thumb rested on the hinge of his jaw. Jason waited for a half a second, eyes focused on the thick, deliciously dark coffee that was being held in Slade’s outstretched hand and then there was that familiar, fond huff that made something in his mangled, malformed heart soar.

“Want a taste?”

“It’s coffee, of course I do.”

He should have expected it, really. How many times had they played this game before and how many times had Jason fallen for it?

Still, when their lips met over the wafting steam, Jason did get to taste the coffee: There was the barest hint of cinnamon and caramel and the undeniable taste of tobacco.

“Teasing bastard.” Jason muttered, but he found that his own lips had stretched to mirror Slade’s. “Come with me?”

“Maybe.” Slade hummed. “Maybe not. You’ll find out in a while, I suppose.”

Jason knew that sound, he knew that thickened, syrupy fire that coiled low in his gut at the thought of what waited. There might have been a time when the unknown of Slade’s words would have caused heat to coil for a completely different reason, but that had been before.

It was funny how it could be characterised as before. Jason had never imagined himself as somebody who could feel at ease, even if not entirely safe, and there was a darkness in his corrupted heart that hissed that he did not deserve to be happy.

Maybe it was right. Jason had thought about that often enough. He didn’t know how long he had spent waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the rejection that, even years later, still had not come. He did not know how many times he sat and watched and waited for Slade to realise he wasn’t worth the effort, that he was in fact nothing.

(That was a lie: Jason knew every single instance in which his mind had conjured those thoughts, those twisted, mercurial feelings. He knew because they had never really stopped, instead they had quieted down to a rasping, dying gurgle that peaked and echoed and were then silenced with a choked off-groan.)

“Go.” Slade urged and he took another swing of the coffee, curling it into his chest protectively because fuck if Jason wasn’t coffee-stealing ghoul. “Relax for once in your life.”

Is it technically a new life, Slade wondered as he watched Jason stalk away, already pinking up so prettily, if you were so very, very dead in my arms?

**

Thick plumes of Oudh scented steam rose, fogging the usually crystalline sparkle of the shower doors. The water, fresh and scalding as it slipped down bruised aches and shallow contusions, had long since ran clear, yet Jason did not want to retreat from its warmth, not when he had been so cold.

His breath came out in steam-slicked pants as he dragged his hands through his hair, as his nails, blunted and free of crusted blood, scratched along the thick, corded musculature of his neck. Each pass, be it of his nails or the calloused, roughened pads of his fingers, had gentle sparks of pleasure tingling down his spine.

For a moment, as Jason pressed his fingers into his shoulder-blade, his mind conjured memories of the previous night: Slade’s hand, larger and rougher than Jason’s own, as it pushed into the coiled tension, his other hand bruising upon Jason’s hip as he fucked into him with slow, filthy thrusts.

He could feel the heat spreading from the deepest, darkest pits of his stomach, lighting the nerves of his body with a haze of bloodied passion. Jason’s hand slide down the defined ridges of his stomach, and even in the haze of lust he stayed as far away from the scar above his heart as he could. Nails left pinking trails across his heated skin and his nipples hardened when a calloused thumb brushed over them.

He was teasing himself, wishing that it was Slade touching him, and it wouldn’t be that difficult to get Slade to touch him, not when Slade always wanted to touch him, but where once Jason would forever want to be touched by Slade, that was no longer the case.

It hadn’t been for weeks now. Not since his ribs had been cracked open and he had died and come back to life with a vile taint upon his scarred body.

“Baby.” Slade called from the other side of the shower door. “You lonely in there?”

Jason whined through the steam, and he heard Slade’s responding rich chuckle. It was a sound that made his cock harden, that made the heat in his belly boil and bubble. He grasped his cock, jerking it with featherlight touches to torment himself.

“S’okay if you wanna stay in there alone.” Slade said. “Just be a good boy for me and do what I say. Can you do that, Jase?”

Jason’s answer was a moan, low and throaty as he pinched himself. He heard Slade’s voice continue, humming and syrupy and with his own hand twisting around his cockhead, Jason was lost to the sensations. The water rolled down his skin in ticklish beads of delight, the spicy scent of his bodywash commanded his senses even as he brushed a thumb over a foamy nipple.

“Go on baby, tug on your pretty little nipples, get them good and wet for daddy.” Slade prompted.

And even though Jason could not see him, he could hear the indulgent smirk in Slade’s tone, he could see how his lip would pull to the left and reveal sharp teeth that often left behind pearls of blood and purpling bruises. He pressed down on one such mark and there was a throb on illicit pain before he returned to tweaking his nipples on Slade’s command.

“Your fingers aren’t as good as daddy’s are they, baby? Not as good as my mouth sucking and licking and biting.” Jason keened high and needy. “Ah ah. Good boys don’t touch daddy’s cock without being told they can, do they baby boy?”

Jason stilled, the hand drifting through the wiry curl of his pubes. Slade always had a filthy mouth on him, and it was one of the things Jason loved most about him (as well as a very long list of other things) but the idea that his cock belonged to Slade did something to his brain. It made every sensation that much more heightened; it made every touch that bit sweeter and Jason, forever wanting to belong, wating to be loved and adored, nearly came on the spot.

“’M not touching daddy’s cock.” Jason’s voice sounded wrecked, and Slade could hear the gasps and gentle mewls as he continued to play with his nipples.

“What about daddy’s hole?” Slade wondered, having sat on the cold tile of the floor, his own cock fisted in his hand, fat and filling as their game progressed. “Do you wanna touch daddy’s hole, sweetheart?”

Jason remembered the burn and stretch of Slade’s cock as it filled him just the night before. He remembered how he laid across Slade’s lap once they were finished, and how the older man gathered the come that was leaking from Jason’s hole and pressed it back in with two slick fingers. Jason had come from that alone, dry and with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Yes. Yes I wanna touch my hole. Can I please daddy, can I touch my hole?” Jason pleaded.

“Whose hole, baby?” Came Slade’s sharp question. “Whose hole do you wanna touch?”

“Your hole, daddy. Yours.” Jason clenched as the heat coiled around his spine, kissing his nerves with a thousand little bites. “’M your boy, your good boy, so it’s your hole.”

Slade swallowed down a vicious curse as he heard those fervent words spill from Jason’s mouth. His own cock twitched, and it seemed that whatever plans he had with the mirrors would have to happen later. He pulled at his balls when he heard Jason gasp.

“You touching your greedy little hole, Jase? Got your fingers all slicked up and pressed inside? Do they feel as good as mine baby? Do they touch that spot that makes you purr like a sweet little kitten?”

Jason’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he pressed lube slicked fingers into himself. He’d always found it ridiculous that they’d kept lube in the shower, but he was grateful or it now. He twisted his fingers inside and his mouth fell open in a silent whimper when he brushed against his prostate. He imagined they were Slade’s thick, calloused fingers getting him ready to take his fat cock, and he could feel the vein throb within him.

Slade, fisting his cock with languid ease as he listened to the sounds his pretty boy made, tipped his head back against the steam-heated glass of the shower. He could see Jason through it, even if he was obscured somewhat by the thickened haze and the rolling drops of spray.

But nothing could drown out his sounds.

“You imagining it’s me licking your hole open, Jase? That I’m pulling your cheeks apart and spittin’ and suckin’ on your rim? That I’m tongue fucking you? Is that what my dirty little boy is thinking about, huh?”

“Jesus Christ, Slade.” Jason swallowed down a hoarse scream as he fucked himself on his fingers. “The fuckin’ mouth on you is criminal.”

“Yeah.” Slade snorted. “That’s why I’m a criminal. But you didn’t answer my question Jase, is that what you’re thinking about?”

“S’not.” Jason disagreed, voice pulling the vowel as his hips stuttered.

“Then tell daddy what you’re thinking about.”

“Last night, when you fucked me into the window, and when you took me on the rug in front of the fire. How soft it was when I rubbed my cock on it, how your hand felt around my throat.” He stilled his fingers inside of him, and his free hand grasped his throbbing, aching cock in an effort to stave off his orgasm. “It was so good when you held me and fucked your come back into me with your fingers, daddy. It was so good. Makes me feel full.”

“And my mouth is criminal.” Slade huffed, twisting the head of his cock as his nails dug deep into his pecs. “You close, baby?”

“Hmm. Been so close, just on the edge, but I’m a good boy and you told me I’m not allowed touch you cock.”

“Fuck your hand like you fucked my thigh, sweetheart. Fuck your hand and lick your come off and the come and kiss daddy, he wants to taste his boy.”

Jason tipped his head against the shower wall, but as he took his cock in his hand, as he stuffed his aching, quivering hole full of three fingers. His mind, as filthy and twisted as it was, conjured the memories of Jason, whining and needy as he humped Slade’s thick thigh like a little bitch in heat.

He remembered Slade’s breath on his neck, his teeth on his ear as he whispered, “Just like that baby, be a good girl and make yourself wet for daddy.”

His cock pulsed and the come clung to his stomach in thick ropes as he curled over, riding through the last of his orgasm, his hole twitching and tightening around his fingers. He took a deep breath, and Jason turned away from the spray of the water, and Jason dragged his fingers through the mess on his stomach.

His hoke twitched and Jason mourned the emptiness that he felt deep within him, the one that had been growing since that da in the alley, and he pushed open the shower door. Slade was there, arousal thick between his legs, but he only had eyes for Jason who sucked his fingers into the soft, warm heat of his mouth, the salty bitterness of his own come coating his tongue.

Slade stepped into the shower, and his hand curled through the wet curls of Jason’s hair as the other pressed into the column of his neck, pressing just enough for Jason to gasp before Slade claimed his mouth in a biting, bruising kiss.

He licked away the evidence of Jason’s orgasm from his tongue, and as the hot water rolled between them, Jason pressed himself forward, his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to see Slade’s disgust for the scar above his heart.

“It’s part of you now baby.” Slade said gently, an uncharacteristic softness alight in his eye as he scraped his thumb along Jason’s Adam’s Apple. “And I love every part of you, every broken bone and jagged scar. It’s all just you Jase, and that’s all I care about.”

Jason opened his eyes then, and he blinked away the water that beaded on his lashes. Slade had that look about him, the one that rarely made an appearance and Jason let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as he pressed his head to Slade’s shoulder.

“Love you too, old man.” Jason mumbled, biting Slade’s shoulder, who only laughed in response. “God help our water bill…”

“Well, we better make it worth it then, should we sweetheart?” Slade raised an eyebrow and pressed a kiss to Jason’s temple. “You good, now?”

Yeah, Jason thought, I’m good with you here.