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Slade opened the door to his safehouse and took in the sight before him. Dick, the hero that he had turned into his apprentice when the boy was Robin, was standing at his door. He was drenched from the rain outside, silent, and the bags under his eyes made it clear how exhausted he was.
Slade raised an eyebrow, expecting resistance, but Dick opened his mouth and spoke plainly, “I'm tired, Slade. I'm tired of holding everything together.” Slade doesn't speak at first, he observes. The younger man’s voice made it clear that he was on the edge of tears. Slade noticed the telltale start of bruises forming at the edges of the Nightwing suit - they look fresh; they appear self-inflicted, perhaps from training too hard as a form of self-flagellation. Dick had done that a lot as a youngster, and it was a habit that he never truly broke. His hands are trembling from exhaustion.
Slade knew that Dick carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and that wasn't an exaggeration. He was the first sidekick of the Justice League members, and as a result, became a peer and/or mentor to every young vigilante after him. He led them, guided them, supported them, provided active listening, assigned missions, communicated with other heroes and governments - he was always busy. The young heroes relied on him, the Justice League relied on him, thus the whole world did as well. Dick wore the mask of happiness and support well, but Slade had always been able to see the cracks in the mask.
After all, Slade had been a part of Dick’s growth and emotional maturity. Dick thrived under Slade’s expectations of obedience for reward - however, Dick chose to remain a hero. This time, it seemed like he was choosing Slade’s dominance over being a leader.
Slade moved from the doorway, giving Dick his first order of the night, “Upstairs.” Dick follows his order without protest, kicking off his wet boots at the door and heading straight for the stairs. Slade had taught Dick to obey , and even if Dick fought against his instincts, he enjoyed a firm hand to guide him.
This was not their first time meeting like this.
When Slade comes upstairs a few minutes later, Dick is on his knees at the foot of Slade’s bed. Just like Slade taught him when he was his apprentice. He doesn't need to be told to get on his knees anymore.
Slade circles his body like he's prey, watching every twitch of Dick’s muscles. Dick’s shoulders tremble at the scrutiny - Slade used to be highly critical of Dick’s body, telling him how every detail of his appearance mattered when he wore his colors. Dick looked beautiful, even as he was drenched in his Nightwing outfit.
Dick is silent, and Slade knows why. It's not because he's afraid of angering Slade like he used to be. No, he just doesn't need to; he's tired, and he's come to submit, not to talk.
Slade moves to the front where Dick can see him, then he sits on his bed. He shifts a lock of Dick’s damp hair from his face, which causes Dick to look at him. “Color?”
Dick responds quietly, hoarsely, “Green.” All clear, all willing to submit.
Slade works slowly, but methodically. He starts with Dick’s gloves, peeling them off before tossing them in the nearby hamper. Dick’s eyes remain downcast as Slade brings Dick’s head forward, unzipping Dick’s damp bodysuit from the back.
Slade orders him, “Undress. Put your suit in the hamper. Then, back on your knees.” Dick obeys without hesitation, standing up and peeling off the skin-tight suit. Slade eyes the damage to Dick’s skin - early signs of bruising is visible from his neck down on both the front and back of his body. Dick returns to his knees, but Slade doesn’t allow him to keep his eyes cast down. He cups Dick’s jaw, tilting it upward - he’s assessing and grounding Dick at the same time. Dick closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a barely audible moan at the skin-to-skin contact; Slade realizes how touch-starved the younger man must be.
Slade asks directly, “Safeword?”
Dick exhales, speaking breathlessly, “Slade.” Ironic, the name that hurts him the most is also the one that protects and heals him. Slade allows Dick to melt into his touch - he’s safe in this space they’ve built together for control and comfort. It’s a structured surrender.
One of Slade’s hands remains on Dick’s jaw as the other moves to his back, pulling Dick ever closer and brushing his fingers down Dick’s spine. Dick’s breath hitches - this isn’t foreplay, this is a ritual; every touch is deliberate and sates his need for praise and dominance from Slade. Dick breathes, his face is inches from Slade’s crotch; so close, Slade can feel his breath against his clothed cock.
Dick’s face moves closer as Slade pulls his hand away from his jaw, whining. Slade is firm as he speaks, “Stay right there, boy. Breathe.” Dick does as he’s told. Slade slowly undoes his zipper, allowing his half-mast cock to spring free from its confines. Dick practically drools - he wants to take Slade’s cock in his mouth badly.
Slade’s hand quickly moved to Dick’s hair, and he grabbed a section of Dick’s short hair by the roots. Dick moaned at the roughness as Slade tells him, “Suck it slowly. You’re going to swallow every drop once I cum. I will make sure you cum as well.” Dick nodded and opened his mouth wide.
Slade guided Dick’s face onto his cock and loosened his grip slightly, letting Dick deepthroat him. Slade moved his leg, pressing his foot against Dick’s cock. However careful Dick was with his cock, Slade reciprocated using his foot. He could feel Dick’s cock harden from the friction and Slade was hardening in his mouth.
Dick came first, moaning softly as he lost control.. Slade guided and slowly fucked Dick’s face, groaning as he came hard in Dick’s mouth. Dick swallowed every single drop obediently, looking up at Slade’s face.
Slade loosened his grip on Dick’s hair, saying, “Good boy. Come here.” Dick slowly let go of Slade’s cock and climbed up onto the bed. He lay down on Slade’s lap and Slade pulled the blanket on the bed over Dick’s naked form.
Slade reminded Dick, “You don’t need to hold it together. Not here.”
Dick spoke softly in reply, “You could break me, Slade.”
Slade replied softly but firmly, “No, I won't break you. I’ll rebuild you.” He stroked Dick’s hair, a gesture that had Dick practically melting and falling asleep. Slade added, “You did good today, my apprentice.”
Dick doesn’t say anything, but he stays still as Slade leans down and plants a soft kiss on his temple. It’s not a sign of ownership, but of recognition. Slade doesn’t promise him love, safety, or even redemption. What he provides is sex and structure, which Dick desperately craved.
Slade doesn’t speak for a while, but when he does, he tells Dick, “You can stay tonight.”
Dick’s voice is barely a whisper as he says, “Thank you…sir.”
Dick still felt broken, tired, overworked…he still felt burdened by the weight on his shoulders. But tonight, he was held - and that’s what he needed.