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It's been a rough night at the end of a rough week, and Dick wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and then crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, that plan is cut short when he stumbles in his living room window and finds someone waiting for him.
Dick sighs, rubbing a hand across his face and then forcefully shutting the window. He can feel the man's gaze on him, the amusement with it, but he turns away without giving another glance, walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
He strips out of his suit, kicking it somewhere in the corner to deal with in the morning, and tosses his mask to follow it. He tugs on a pair of sweatpants, takes a sip from the glass of stale water sitting on his bedside table, and then turns to go deal with his guest.
"What are you doing here, Slade?"
The man in question raises an eyebrow at him. Or, more likely considering how his eye drifts downward, at the expanse of bruising across Dick's bare chest and stomach.
Like he said; it's been a rough week.
"Can't a guy drop in on his favorite bird?"
One side of Dick's lips quirks up, amused—and flattered—despite himself. "Not usually," he says. "Usually there's a phone call involved, or some form of prior warning." He pauses, and then adds, "Unless you're here for a more nefarious purpose, that is."
He is in his armor, after all, weapons and all. Dick thought they'd passed the point where he has to be actively worried about Slade taking a job on him—they're sleeping together, for fuck's sake—but he isn't delusional enough to think Slade would choose him over a few million dollars. If the price is high enough, Slade might just do it. And unfortunately, Dick knows he wouldn't see it coming until far too late.
It makes things interesting between them, at least.
"What happened to you?" Slade asks, nodding at Dick's torso and neatly sidestepping the question.
Dick chooses to let it go. He walks over to the couch and throws himself down onto it, grunting when that upsets his sore ribs. Slade, leaning against the wall opposite him, waits patiently for an answer, and Dick takes advantage of the time, allowing his eyes to roam over the mercenary.
Slade looks good. It's been a while since they've seen each other, a month, at least, and he's got a slight tan like he's been somewhere sunny. Looks relaxed and confident, no tension that speaks to a bad job. No signs of injury, of course, which doesn't mean much. Just that he hasn't gotten into any real trouble in the last few hours. And while Bruce would absolutely hate to know Dick thinks this, Slade always looks good in his armor.
It's annoying, is what it is. He consoles himself with the knowledge that Slade certainly enjoys him in his Nightwing suit, too.
"Gang war," Dick answers eventually. When he raises his gaze once more to Slade's face, he finds the other man smirking, surely at the way Dick's been staring. Dick doesn't have it in him to be embarrassed.
"Nasty stuff," Slade comments. He pushes off the wall, stalking closer, and Dick fights the urge to tense. As attractive as Slade might look in his gear, he's still Deathstroke. Dick has enough self-preservation instincts to have a part of his brain be slightly alarmed by the armed mercenary approaching so quickly.
Dick hums an agreement nonetheless, tipping his head back to keep eye contact as Slade looms over him.
"What are you doing here, Slade?" Dick asks again.
Once again, he doesn't get an answer. Instead, Slade lifts a knee onto the couch, settling against Dick's hip. He leans forward, hands going up to brace on the back of the couch to either side of Dick's head, and Dick's breath catches at how large Slade feels this close, completely bracketing Dick against the couch. Of course, there are openings if Dick needs to fight, but it wouldn't be an easy thing to do.
"Slade—"
The mercenary quiets him with a kiss, and Dick sighs at the—albeit pleasant—deflection. He tilts his head further up, kissing back. One of Slade's hands lifts from the couch, stance shifting to accommodate, and Dick feels his fingers brush through his hair, then down his face, neck, chest, before settling over his ribs and pressing lightly.
Dick hisses, stiffening, and draws back against the couch to avoid the touch. Slade cocks an eyebrow at him and then presses a little harder, testing the injury.
"Jesus, Slade," Dick says, exasperated, eyes pinching with pain. He grabs Slade's hand and pushes it away from his chest, and Slade lets him. "You could just ask, you know. I have three cracked ribs, alright? No need to get all pokey."
"But ruffling your feathers is always such a pleasure," Slade tells him with a smirk, and Dick rolls his eyes. "Besides, you know I'm a more hands on type of guy."
Dick snorts. "You're begging me to make a dirty joke here, aren't you?" he asks flatly.
"You're the one with the bad sense of humor," Slade says pointedly, "not me."
"Is there a purpose to your visit?" Dick asks, starting to get irritated. He's tired, exhausted, even; Bludhaven has only just started to calm down, to recover from the gang war that had seemed to be never-ending, and Dick needs some time to recover, too. Bruce had invited him to do that at the Manor instead, but Dick can't completely leave his city while it's still fragile. He needs to be ready to go help at a moment's notice in case anything sparks up again, and right now Slade is keeping him from some much needed sleep.
Slade stands up, and Dick misses his proximity right away, despite his irritation. "Lie down, kid," Slade instructs.
Dick squints suspiciously. "Why—?"
"Would you just do as you're told?" Slade asks, something like amusement curving his lips.
Dick cuts a sharp smile back at him. "Sorry, I've been told I'm pretty bad at that."
"But in certain situations," Slade says, voice dropping low, "you're pretty good at it, aren't you?"
An anticipatory shiver climbs up Dick's spine at the tone, and the implication of Slade's words. God, he hates how easy he is for certain people, how just a few words have gotten him excited. Right now there are two people like that, two people who can just look at him the right way and he'll be halfway to melting.
Maybe it's because he knows they have what it takes to follow through on any promises they make, that they've proven that multiple times each. Whatever the reason, it has Dick wiggling until he's lying down on the couch instead of sitting up.
But Slade doesn't follow him down, instead he walks away.
Dick frowns, slightly offended, and pushes himself up onto his elbows. Slade heads down the hall towards his bedroom, and Dick strains his ears to hear the man rummage around before he comes back into the room. When he sits on the edge of the couch by Dick's hip, Dick sees he's holding a jar of arnica.
Dick's lips tick up into a smile and he lowers himself back down to lying flat. "Softie," he accuses.
Slade doesn't dignify that with a response, instead removing his gloves and then opening the bruise cream. He scoops some onto his fingers and reaches over, applying it to Dick's chest. Despite how he'd pressed earlier, his touch is gentle now, and Dick hums in pleasure, letting his eyes slide shut.
"I met a friend of yours today," Slade murmurs after a little while, his hands now rubbing the arnica into a bruise on Dick's shoulder.
Dick makes an acknowledging noise, too content to do more than that.
"Well, we've met once or twice before," Slade amends. "But this is the first time since you two apparently started fucking."
Dick's eyes fly open, jaw dropping as he gapes up at Slade. Slade doesn't even glance at him, still focused on his task at hand, and there's something terribly humored in Slade's eye as he does it.
"Uh," Dick says articulately, completely unsure what one says in a situation like this.
He and Slade aren't exclusive, that was made perfectly clear at the beginning of...whatever this is. The both of them are completely free to sleep with whomever they please, and the perks of Slade having an extreme healing factor is that STDs aren't ever a problem with him. Dick's well aware that Slade sleeps around, and it doesn't bother him.
It's just up until this point, Dick hasn't been sleeping with anyone else. He just doesn't have the time to start anything with anyone, nor the energy. It's simply been easier to do it with just Slade.
But then three months ago...
Well. It was made clear he has a type, at the very least.
Unfortunately, it's also perfectly clear to Slade, because the man says, "You're certainly predictable, you know that?"
Dick scoffs, for lack of anything better to say. He honestly can't think of a single thing, which is a first for him. He'll chalk it up to how exhausted he is.
"Kid, relax," Slade says in exasperation, finally looking up at him. "You're stiff as a board all of a sudden. Are you under the impression that I'm going to be upset?"
Dick squints. Honestly? He hadn't been sure how Slade would react to something like this. Like he said, they're not exclusive, and it's not like Slade has ever said anything to try to discourage Dick from starting something with someone else. But Slade's also always struck him as somewhat...possessive, so he hadn't been sure what Slade would do when actually confronted with Dick having sex with someone else.
"No," Dick settles on, but he must sound more unsure than he means to because Slade snorts.
"Right," Slade agrees anyway, instead of pressing that issue. "Look, we made it very clear that this wasn't exclusive, so I figure if I can fuck your brother—"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"—then you can fuck another older, morally ambiguous killer that your daddy wouldn't approve of in the slightest."
Dick is still reeling from the brother comment, and makes a mental note to speak to Jason once he wraps his head around it. Or maybe not. Maybe that would be super weird. Hey, little bro, apparently we're fucking the same mercenary. Thoughts?
Dick giggles involuntarily at the mental image of Jason's face in response to something like that, and Slade gives him a look like he knows exactly what he's thinking.
"Oh god," Dick says as something else occurs to him. "You do mean Jason, right? You and Tim aren't—?"
Slade laughs at him, something Dick most assuredly does not appreciate. For a moment it doesn't look like Slade's going to respond, that he's going to leave Dick hanging in his sudden misery, but he ends up saying, "Yes, little bird, I mean Jason. You know, you both have very similar tastes—"
"No, nope!" Dick interrupts, hands flying up to cover his ears. "No, no, that's not something I need to know. Let's rewind a minute, before I found out something I really don't think I needed to know. We were discussing the person I'm sleeping with, I believe, not you."
"I'm impressed you let the daddy comment slide," Slade says, allowing the subject change. Thank God.
Dick grimaces. Yeah, usually that would've irritated Dick, both at the term and the implication that Dick chooses his partners based on who Bruce would or would not approve of, but Slade managed to distract him with something bigger.
"Anyway," Dick grumbles, "how did the subject even come up between you two? It's not like you casually go around telling everyone you're sleeping with Nightwing." Dick pauses, frowns. "You don't, do you?"
"No," Slade says, lips curving in amusement. "We ended up working together by happenstance, and he mentioned he knew you." Slade smirks at him. "It was the way he said it. So we got to talking."
"You got to talking," Dick echoes.
Slade hums a confirmation, and says nothing else. Dick's frown deepens, knowing Slade is enjoying this.
"Are you going to tell me what you talked about, or just leave me in suspense like an asshole?"
"The second option is definitely tempting," Slade muses.
"Slade, come on."
"We talked about you, little bird," Slade says, and the way he says it has a shiver running down Dick's spine. "Specifically how gorgeous you look on your knees with a cock down your throat."
Dick's breath catches.
"And on your back with your legs spread like a good slut. And pinned against the wall unable to move unless we let you. And..." Slade smirks at him again, blue eye dark and hooded. "We talked about quite a bit, birdie. And you know what conclusion we came to?"
It takes Dick a second to be able to formulate a response, and even then all he gets out is, "Conclusion?"
Slade's smirk sharpens. "That you would look absolutely divine between us."
Oh. Oh. Yes, that...wow. The both of them pressed up against him...wow. Okay, that's a fantasy he didn't realize he had, but now he knows it won't be leaving his head for quite a while.
"What do you think about that, little bird?" Slade asks, but the look at his face shows he knows exactly what Dick thinks of that proposition.
"Sounds...good," Dick manages, still captured by the idea. "Yeah, I would be...amenable to that."
"Amenable," Slade mocks, sending a pointed glance down at Dick's crotch, where his sweatpants are beginning to tent. Dick doesn't have it in him to be embarrassed at the moment.
"Be seeing you then, kid," Slade says, getting to his feet, grabbing his gloves from where he tossed them onto the coffee table.
Dick gapes at him, swinging himself into an upright position. "Are you serious?"
Slade cocks an eyebrow at him. "This was just a brief visit," he says, securing his gloves in place and then pulling on his mask. "An obligatory check-in. Don't worry; you'll be seeing me very soon."
"Slade!" Dick protests, but the man ducks out the window without another word, vanishing into the night.
Dick groans, flopping back against the couch.
"Tease," he mutters, then pushes himself to his feet, striding towards his bedroom and the drawer of toys waiting there for him. If Slade isn't going to take care of the problem he caused, Dick supposes he'll just have to do it himself.
The next few days are blessedly quiet in Bludhaven.
Everyone is recovering from the stressful week, everyone licking their wounds and hesitantly breathing. Dick can feel it through the whole city, and it definitely makes his job a lot easier. Even the criminals who weren't in any way affiliated with the gang war seem to be laying low, no one wanting to accidentally spark something big again.
It's nice. Gives Dick a chance to heal from his injuries and catch up on sleep.
Of course, half the time Dick wakes up half-hard from a dream involving his two FWBs (frenemies with benefits, for clarification), frustrated with Slade for having put the idea in his head and then just vanishing. Talk about rude.
It's been a week since Slade's impromptu visit when Dick returns to his apartment after work to find Midnighter in his living room, sprawled out on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, TV remote in his hand as he idly flips through channels.
Dick shuts the front door forcefully behind him, and that gets M to tilt his head back, looking over at Dick with a crooked smile that is intimately familiar to Dick by this point.
"Hey, Grayson," M greets. "You're back late. Class run long?"
Dick simply holds up his bag of take-out as an answer, and then heads into the kitchen to put everything in the fridge; he has a feeling he won't be eating it for a little while, and he'd rather not just leave it sitting out.
Instead, he grabs a Sprite and cracks it open, heading back into the living room. He kicks his shoes off and hangs his jacket on the back of the front door before walking over to the couch, perching on the arm and looking to M with a cocked eyebrow.
"Not that this isn't a pleasant surprise," he says, "but why are you here? Breaking into my apartment?"
He's dressed casually in a black Henley, blue jeans, and loosely-laced combat boots, so this probably isn't a work-related visit, but it's always possible.
"Technically no breaking occurred," M tells him.
Dick sends him an unimpressed look. "Just because your Doors allow you to teleport doesn't change the general concept of you entering my apartment without my permission while I'm not home."
M offers him a slow grin and a slower once-over that almost has Dick's face heating up.
Unfortunately, the pleased hum M makes directly after does draw a blush to Dick's cheeks. Damn.
"But it's so much fun to startle you," M says. It makes Dick think of Slade's words the week before; But ruffling your feathers is always such a pleasure.
"I notice you haven't yet answered my question," Dick points out. Slade hadn't either. Fuck, he really does have a type, doesn't he? Could be something worth psychoanalyzing. Though Dick probably doesn't want to open that can of worms.
M extends his arm towards Dick, hand held out for him to take, and Dick puts his hand in his, curious despite himself. M tugs him, and Dick allows himself to be pulled, sliding onto the man's lap when he's maneuvered there.
Dick hums, feeling the large muscles of M's thighs shift under him, and places his soda on the table beside the couch so he can reach up to squeeze lightly at M's shoulders, sliding down to do the same to his large biceps. M smirks at him and flexes dutifully, making Dick smile.
"I suppose this answers why you're here," Dick says with a light laugh. He's certainly not complaining; this is a nice turn for his evening.
One of M's hands settles on his hip, the other brushing up his back to cup the nape of his neck, scraping his nails lightly over the skin there. Dick's eyelids flutter, and he moves with it when M uses that grip to pull Dick forward, kissing him.
Dick melts against the older man, biting sharply at his bottom lip before allowing M to take control of the kiss, moaning softly as M does just that, kissing him deeply. Dick grinds his hips down and M meets him easily, using his grip on Dick's hip to pull him down more firmly.
One of Dick's hands slides up, tangling in M's hair and pulling at the red strands. M nips at his bottom lip in retaliation, and Dick grins against his mouth, amused.
This is something he loves about sex with M; whether it's soft or hard, slow or brutal, it's always fun. M was his kinda-friend before they ever slipped into bed together, and he's glad that that carried over once their dynamic shifted. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that if this thing between them has to end at some point, it will be completely easy to go right back to what they were before, no lingering awkwardness in sight.
Sex with M is the farthest thing from complicated, and in Dick's life filled with complications, that's really nice.
"Isn't this a pretty picture."
Dick goes rigid, breaking the kiss to jerk his head towards the door with wide eyes. Entering his apartment is Slade, dressed just as casually as M in a white t-shirt that hugs his body and a worn pair of jeans. He shuts the door behind him, smirking as his eye sweeps over Dick and M on the couch.
"You're late," M comments, and Dick turns his wide-eyed gaze to him instead. M pays him no mind, looking at Slade with a raised eyebrow.
Slade strolls over to the couch, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. "I thought it would be best to allow you a few minutes," he says. "The kid would probably be less on-edge this way than if he came home to find us both waiting."
If Dick wasn't still struggling to comprehend the fact that they're both currently in his apartment—Slade's words from a week ago at the forefront of his mind—he'd probably be affronted by the way they're talking about him like he's not even here.
"You guys discussed this?" Dick blurts out.
Two laser-sharp gazes swing to him immediately, and Dick feels his mouth going dry at the attention. Individually, having the entirety of either of their focus on him is a lot to handle, but both at the same time? Damn.
"I told you that before, little bird," Slade says, a touch of condescension in his voice.
Dick frowns at the tone. "There's a difference between you saying that you think it would be hot and the pair of you actually making a plan and showing up at my apartment."
Then he blinks as it really sinks in; they made a plan to show up at his apartment. They made a plan to...
Dick's heart speeds up in his chest; simultaneously, Slade and M smirk at him. Damn enhanced hearing. It's cheating.
"Look, Grayson," M says. "You don't have to be me to know the way this is going to play out. So say yes or no, so we can really begin."
It takes Dick a longer moment than he'd like to admit to be able to coherently say, "Yes."
M grins, not surprised in the slightest. He never is. "Good. Take off your shirt."
Dick follows the command instantly, grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt and pulling it up and off, tossing it to the side. He hears Slade walk closer as M's eyes slide across the expanse of revealed skin, the mercenary stepping up close against him. Dick takes a deep breath, leaning back slightly against him, and the sheer size of him takes Dick's breath away for a moment.
Both Slade and M are in an entirely different weight class than him by far. And with them both being 6'5", there's an extremely noticeable difference between them and him, a solid half-foot shorter and definitely leaner.
It makes Dick's mouth water; he knows from experience—both in the field and in the bedroom—just how well the both of them can use that strength, and he definitely knows that they're completely proportionate all the way down. Though that knowledge is solely from the bedroom, of course.
Well, kind of. That Russian sauna with M certainly left nothing to the imagination.
M pulls Dick in, kissing him again, deep and domineering from the onset this time. Slade's hands land on Dick's shoulders, warm and large, his callouses dragging pleasantly over Dick's skin as one hand slides around to cup Dick's throat. Dick gasps into the kiss, head tipping back against Slade's chest as Slade applies pressure, straining his breathing slightly.
"Safeword," Slade prompts, hand loosening slightly to make it easier for Dick to speak. M breaks the kiss to do the same.
Dick takes a couple deep breaths and then says, "Carnival." They both know that, have certainly done this with him enough times, but a check-in is always good.
"Good boy," Slade says, and M's smirk is sharp when Dick shivers at the words.
"Why don't we take this to the bedroom," M suggests, and Dick nods immediately. He feels more than hears Slade chuckle, and then the man steps back, walking around the couch and down the hall towards Dick's room, stripping his shirt as he goes and making Dick bite his lip.
M's arms wrap around him, and then the older man is pushing to his feet, effortlessly carrying Dick. Dick wraps his legs around M's waist to make it easier, and M calls out, "Door."
Dick laughs as the portal appears, M stepping forward and depositing them in the bedroom. Slade is over by Dick's dresser, rummaging through it. He's stripped completely, and Dick allows himself a few moments to admire before asking M, "You couldn't just walk us down the short hallway?"
"Why do that when I can teleport?" M asks in return, and then tosses Dick onto the bed.
Dick grunts, bouncing, but any irritation he might have felt melts away as M strips in front of him. He doesn't make a show of it, but there's still something very sexy about M's slow, practiced movements, and it distracts Dick enough that he doesn't notice Slade approach until the bed dips behind him and Slade wraps a strong arm around his torso, pulling him flush against his chest.
In this position he can clearly feel Slade's growing erection, and Dick grinds back against it, getting rewarded with a quiet grunt of pleasure from the man. Slade's other hand reaches around and flicks open the button of Dick's pants, then drags down the zipper and slides his hand inside. He cups Dick through his underwear and Dick gasps, trying to push up into the touch, but Slade's arm around his middle keeps him pinned in place.
M is completely naked now, and his eyes are dark as they slide up and down Dick's body. Dick shudders at the hungry look on his face, and then moans when Slade's hand tightens, stroking Dick to hardness.
M walks forward and grabs the ends of Dick's pants in either hand, pulling. Slade lifts Dick slightly to help, and his pants slide right off, stripping Dick to his underwear.
There's a pause, and then the both Slade and M are chuckling. Dick glances down and realizes why; he's currently wearing his Superman boxer briefs. His cheeks heat slightly in embarrassment.
"What?" he says defensively. "They're comfortable. Roy gave them to me as a gag gift for my birthday."
"No discussion of past lovers," Slade murmurs against the shell of his ear, arm tightening around him, "while you're in bed with me."
Dick suppresses a shiver; there is the possessiveness he'd been expecting, albeit not in the way he pictured it coming out.
"It's alright, Grayson," M says good-naturedly, climbing onto the bed and settling over Dick's shins. "You're a Superman fanboy, you can admit it."
"I'm not—"
Slade slips his hand inside of Dick's underwear, making him groan at the sudden skin contact around his cock, cutting off his words.
"Why don't we get these off," M murmurs, though Dick barely hears him, thoroughly distracted by the way Slade's hand is speeding up around him, grip just slightly on the too-rough side and making Dick want to buck up into it for more, whining when he finds himself still unable to move, Slade's arm like a steel bar around his torso.
Slade chuckles at the noise and M grabs Dick's underwear, pulling it down his legs and tossing it somewhere behind him.
"Look at you," M coos, glancing at Dick's—very hard—cock in Slade's fist. "So eager, aren't you, bluebird?"
"Fuck," Dick pants. He's not used to this, and it's almost overwhelming. With Slade at his back and M moving up to straddle his thighs, Dick's trapped between two brick walls, both of them completely focused on him.
"What do you want, kid?" Slade asks, voice low. His hand doesn't stop around Dick's cock, and that—paired with the way M is now stroking his chest and pinching his nipples—is making it very hard to focus.
"I—uh—"
M smirks at him. "C'mon, Grayson, what happened to that smart tongue of yours? Nothing to say?"
Dick has no idea if M is purposefully giving him something to latch onto or if it really was just a line, but either way it puts an idea in Dick's head and he wants it badly.
"I can think of a better use for my smart tongue," Dick says with a breathless grin, and M and Slade exchange a look. Dick can't see Slade's face from this angle, but he can see the pleased, hungry expression on M's, and can only imagine that Slade's is the same. It makes Dick moan.
"Yeah?" M goads. He slides a little closer, hand leaving Dick's nipples to instead reach up and wrap around his throat, fingers flexing. Dick is suddenly reminded of the fact that these are hands that kill, and it really shouldn't turn him on so much, putting his life in the hands of someone so brutal. If they wanted to, right now, M and Slade would have no trouble whatsoever killing him. That danger of that—even while he knows they never would—is more exciting than it should be.
"You can do better than that, kid," Slade chastises. He twists his wrist, and Dick groans, trying to thrust up into the grip around his cock and completely unable to move between the arm around his middle and M's weight on his thighs. "Use your words; ask for what you want and maybe you can have it."
Dick swallows heavily, feeling M's hand around his neck tighten in response. He meets the man's eyes to the best of his ability, though he feels slightly unfocused.
"Let me suck you off," Dick says determinedly. M's eyebrows shoot up at the forwardness of it, lips curling upward in a wide grin.
But Slade tuts, hand stilling around Dick's cock, and Dick whines. "Slade—"
"You can do better than that," Slade says again, nipping at Dick's earlobe.
Yeah, Slade's always enjoyed hearing him beg, and it seems he enjoys it just as much even if it's Dick begging somebody else.
"M," Dick moans out, and M's gaze sharpens. "Please, please, I want to suck your cock."
M's answering smile is all teeth. "Well," he says with relish, "who am I to say no to a nice request like that?"
Slade releases his grip on Dick and M moves off of his thighs, and Dick takes a moment to just breath and try to clear his head now that they've given him some space.
Not that he has space for long. M is settling lazily against the headboard, legs extended and thick thighs spread in a very appealing way, and Slade is once more pressing up against Dick's back, easily manhandling him onto his hand and knees and then pushing him forward towards M.
M's cock juts up proudly, and Dick's mouth waters in anticipation. Both M and Slade are definitely on the larger end of the spectrum, proportionate to the rest of them, and the mere sight of it—and the knowledge that M is most assuredly going to fuck his throat in the near future—has him biting back an embarrassing noise.
Without further hesitation, Dick leans down, taking M into his mouth.
Immediately he feels Slade's hands wrap around his wrists and then pull, and Dick grunts as his chest flops to the bed between M's thighs, the sudden motion pushing M's cock further into his mouth.
Dick wishes he could send a dirty look back at Slade—that was so unnecessary—but M's hips jerking upward and Slade's hand wrapping once again around Dick's cock distracts Dick quite thoroughly.
Bastards, the both of them. Dick hates that he loves it.
Slade pulls his wrists to the small of his back, and Dick tracks the sensation only long enough the feel rope begin to slide over his skin before M's hips jerk up again, shallow and questioning.
Dick flicks his eyes up and finds M staring down at him with hooded eyes, a smile tilting his lips. One of his hands combs through Dick's hair, brushing it out of his face and tugging lightly at the strands.
"How 'bout it, bluebird?" M asks, and Dick winks at him, giving permission.
M takes advantage immediately, his hand tightening in Dick's hair and thrusting his hips up in tandem, holding Dick's head in place as he fucks into his mouth. Dick gags briefly and then suppresses the reflex, relaxing and allowing M to fuck his throat the way he wants to. The pleasured groan it draws from between the man's lips makes Dick's eyelids flutter.
A cool finger presses at the entrance of Dick's ass, and Dick jolts, startled. He can't say he forgot Slade was there—he couldn't possibly, not when Slade's gaze always feels so weighted—but he definitely had been distracted from his presence, and the finger takes him by surprise.
Slade chuckles and pats him on the hip. "Relax for me, birdie."
Dick does just that, spreading his legs a little further as well to make it easier, and is rewarded with a pleased hum from the man behind him.
"Good boy."
Dick moans, and M curses, hips bucking up sharply. Slade inserts his finger into Dick's ass, liberally lubed, and begins pumping it in and out. He adds a second finger sooner than most would usually like, but Dick loves the slight burn that comes from the stretch, and Slade knows that, scissoring his fingers roughly. He adds a third and starts to really fuck his ass with them. He does it in time with M's thrusts, making it so that every time M is as deep as he can go, so are Slade's fingers.
Underneath him, Dick's cock hangs heavy and hard, more turned on than he's been in a long time. But it's not enough, he doesn't just want Slade's fingers, he wants them to—fuck, he wants them to spitroast him, Jesus, never something he ever thought he'd ever get to do let alone with these two particular men, but fuck does he want it—
Dick moans, pushing back on Slade's fingers, trying to communicate how he wants more. His hands twist uselessly where they've been bound in the small of his back.
Slade chuckles again. "Something you want, kid?"
Dick would beg if he could, he'd beg and beg just the way he knows Slade likes, but his mouth is a little full at the moment—okay, a lot full, his lips stretching wide around M's cock—so he can't. All he can do is moan again and tilt his hips up towards Slade, trying to show how much he wants it.
M is the one to laugh this time. "Poor baby," he says, laughter in his voice. "He wants you to fuck him so bad. Feeling desperate, bluebird?"
Dick lets out a helpless, distressed noise and swallows around M's cock.
"Fuck," M curses, yanking his head down further.
Slade swats him on the ass, harsh enough to sting, and Dick keens.
"Greedy," Slade chastises. "He not enough for you, kid? Need me to really make you scream?"
"Oh, fuck off, Wilson," M grunts, but doesn't actually sound upset, too focused on the wet heat of Dick's throat around him. "Stop teasing and just get on with it."
Dick could not agree more.
Thankfully, Slade does as he's told for once, pulling his fingers out of Dick's ass. Dick feels him line up behind him, cockhead nudging at his entrance, and then in one slow, smooth thrust Slade pushes himself inside to the hilt. The stretch burns, Slade's cock far larger than three fingers, and it knocks the wind out of Dick for a minute, a groan building in his chest.
"Damn," Slade grunts, hands clamping down on Dick's hips. "Kid, your ass is a national treasure."
M laughs, and Dick preens under the praise, then releases the groan as both of them thrust into him in time, filling Dick completely from both ends.
They pick up a steady rhythm, both of them fucking roughly, seeking their own pleasure. Dick rocks between them, eyes lidded, drool dripping out of his mouth as he lets them use him, his own arousal getting higher and higher with every moment.
He's always liked this part, the part where it's completely out of his hands, where he just has to relax and allow his partners to use his body how they want, take what they want from him.
God, it's a thousand times better like this, the pair of them with their bruising grips and insane stamina, jerking him back and forth between them like he's just a toy for their pleasure. He tries to grind his hips down against the bed, get some friction on his painfully hard cock, but they've got him pinned firmly in place, unable to do anything for himself. It makes him moan, how easily they control him.
"Fuck, Grayson," M groans. "You're a fucking star, you know that?"
Dick swallows around him again, breath catching at the compliment, and it draws another groan from the man.
"Just like that," Slade says. "So fucking good for us, little bird."
Dick keens, bucking back against Slade, clenching down around him. Slade lets out a grunt of pleasure, always quieter in bed than M and definitely quieter than Dick.
"You know," Slade says, "there's something I've always wanted to try."
M chuckles, quiet enough that Dick barely even hears it, just feels it through his body. He obviously already knows whatever it is Slade's about to suggest, and he's clearly not adverse to it. Dick can only imagine that means great things ahead.
Slade drapes himself over Dick's back, lips hot against Dick's ear as the man murmurs, "How would you like to have us both inside you, kid?"
Dick's first emotion is confusion—they are both inside of him currently, and it's pretty damn good—and his second is desire as he realizes what Slade actually means.
"Fuck!" M curses again, and Dick realizes he clenched down on both Slade and M. "Well, I think that answers that, huh?"
Slade hums, pleased. "I think it does."
He draws back, straightening again, and then slowly takes Dick with him, pulling him off of M's cock. Dick pants wetly against the bed, unable to support his own weight with his hands bound, and Slade wraps a strong arm around his middle to pull him up, plastering him against his chest. Dick's head spins.
M's already moving to lie down, folding his hands beneath his head and smirking up at Dick and Slade, eyes dragging over them.
"Isn't this a pretty picture," he says, echoing Slade's words from earlier, and Slade huffs a quiet laugh against Dick's back.
Slade shuffles them forward without pulling out of Dick's ass, moving Dick to straddle M's hips.
"Christ, look at you," M sighs, pleased. "Fucking gorgeous, Grayson."
Dick moans weakly, head flopping back against Slade's shoulder, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He feels M's hand gently touch his thigh and he looks back down at him, forcing his neck to hold the weight of his head.
"You good?" M checks, and Dick blinks heavily while he works through what M means, and then he grins, eyes half-lidded.
"Green at the way," he says. "Let's—let's do this."
M's eyes flick past Dick's face to Slade. "You heard him," he says, amused. "Let's do this."
Slade's grip is firm around his torso and on his hip as he slowly lowers Dick down. Dick feels M's cockhead at his entrance, pressing against Sade's cock, and it makes Dick shudder, head once again falling back on Slade's shoulder.
It takes a little bit to get the head of M's cock actually in his ass, and when it pops in beside Slade's Dick gasps, back arching as much as it can with the way Slade has him pinned against his chest.
Slade continues to lower him slowly, inch by inch, M deathly still beneath him with a clenched jaw. It's—fuck, it's like nothing Dick's ever felt before, he's never felt so goddamn full. Slade by himself stretches Dick's ass enough to burn but adding in M who's just as large—Dick can't breathe in the absolute best way possible.
Dick feels like he's run a marathon by the time Slade tells him, "That's it, kid."
And still, it takes a long moment for the words to sink in. "Oh," he gasps. "Oh, that's...wow."
"Need a second?"
Dick nods, blinking up at the ceiling. It—Christ, how have they not just split him in half? He feels moments away from it. It's...amazing.
"Okay, Dick says breathlessly. "Okay, you can—okay."
What follows is more grinding than actual fucking, Slade and M just moving in and out against each other by barely a couple inches. But going by the bitten-off groans in his ear and the way M is biting his lip bloody, it seems like it's just as good for them as it is for him, which, frankly, makes it a thousand times better.
Dick lets himself fall boneless against Slade, letting the man keep him upright and move him how he wants.
He couldn't tell you how much time passes before M groans and comes in his ass, head tipping back against the pillows. Slade stops moving for a moment and then pulls Dick up off M's cock in one quick motion that has both Dick and M gasping.
"You good?" Slade asks against Dick's ear, and the gruffness of the other man's voice tells Dick all he needs to know about what Slade wants. It makes him smile lazily.
"Have at it," Dick says, voice slurring slightly.
Slade hums, pleased, and then releases his arm around Dick's torso, letting Dick tip forward against M, his head landing over the man's heart.
Once again, Slade's hands settle on Dick hips, and he takes advantage of the permission given, snapping his hips forward and making Dick gasp. He sets a punishing pace, yanking Dick back against him to meet each thrust, the noise of it obscene as M's cum works as lube.
M's hand wraps around Dick's cock, stroking in time with Slade's thrusts, and Dick gasps.
"Please," he moans. "Ple—please, I want to come, can I—I want—please—"
Slade chuckles behind him. "What do you think, Midnighter? Think the kid's earned it?"
M hums like he's considering the question, calloused fingers dragging around Dick's cock. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd say he has. Been so fucking good for us, after all."
Dick moans again, rocking into the hand around his cock. "Please—"
"Come on, bluebird," M purrs. "Come for us."
And Dick does so with a groan, vision going white as he spills himself over M's hand and both their stomachs, slumping into the mess after it's done. Slade's thrusts speed up, the man grunting above him, and then his hips stutter and he buries himself as deep as he can get, coming inside of Dick.
None of them move for a long minute, save for M's hand raising to stroke gently through Dick's hair. But the feeling gets to them all soon enough, and Slade pulls out, bed shifting as he stands up.
Cum leaks out of Dick's ass, sliding down his thighs, and he moans softly at the feeling. M rolls him onto his side and sits up, hand not stopping its motions through Dick's hair the way M knows he likes.
Dick hears Slade return, the man perching on the edge of the bed and then untying the rope binding Dick's hands together. He runs a wet washcloth over Dick's stomach and the insides of his thighs, the sensitive skin there tingling under his touch. Dick hums with pleasure, tilting up into the stroke of the cloth and into M's hand in his hair, feeling cared for. Both of them have always been excellent at aftercare.
He begins to drift, faintly aware of the pair of them moving around him, of him being moved to lie down with his head on a pillow and a blanket at his feet, ready to be pulled up if he wants it at some point during the night.
Then the room falls silent around him, and he doesn't feel anyone in the bed with him.
"Will you stay?" Dick asks, voice slurring as he approaches sleep.
There's a moment of silence, and then a hand settles gently over his hair. "Who are you talking to, kid?"
A confused noise makes its way out of Dick, brow furrowing. What does he mean, who? "Both of you."
There's another pause, and then someone laughs quietly. The bed dips as the person slides in behind him, an arm wrapping around him to pull him back against a broad chest. Dick sighs happily.
"Well?" the man behind him says, sounding amused. "You heard him, Wilson; get in the bed."
The other man says something unintelligible under his breath, but once again the bed dips, this time in front of Dick, and a large hand settles on Dick's hip, another cradling Dick's head forward to rest over a steady heartbeat. Dick smiles.
"This is ridiculous," the man at his front mutters.
"And yet you got in the bed," the man behind him whispers, a smirk audible in his voice.
"Too much talking," Dick grumbles, shifting unhappily. "Less talking, more sleeping."
A soft laugh; he can't tell where it comes from.
"Whatever you want, little bird," one of them murmurs, and Dick's close enough to unconsciousness that he can't tell who says that, either. "Whatever you want."