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The first time he saw Jason Todd, he was the living definition of jailbait, sitting on the edge of Slade’s pool with his legs in the water and his shoulders freckling in the sun. Rose was floating nearby in one of the novelty flamingo pool floaties that Joey had bought the year before he went to college, when Rose had just moved in and was still struggling with English. She had spent the entire year by in that floatie with no friends, listening to English books on tape and crabbily snarling every time Slade even approached her.
The addition of another person, that was new, and Slade watched them from the door of the pool house. That night he asked Rose: “and that boy?”
“Jason,” she had muttered as she picked at takeout Thai. “He’s a senior, his dad is Bruce Wayne.”
“Bruce Wayne’s kid is in college,” Slade replied with a frown.
But Rose just shook her head. “You’re thinking of Dick,” she told him. “He adopted Jason a couple of years ago, I think. When Dick went to college.”
Slade had scowled as he thought of the boy with the bright blue eyes and the slim waist, all those lithe teen muscles on display for his daughter. “Dad,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “it’s fine. We’re just friends. I guess they don’t have a pool at his house.”
Considering what he knows about Bruce Wayne, that was both slightly unbelievable and also vaguely reassuring. Better to be home.
He saw Jason around, then, for a few weeks; just glimpses of him sitting in the living room with Rose, or at the pool with his curls damp and shining in the sun, his blue eyes bright as he laughed over something Rose said or did.
It seemed fine, then, until he was sitting in the kitchen with the door open to the backyard. He could hear the splashing, and Rose laughing, and then Jason’s lilting baritone dropping in tone. Slade could hear every word as if they were shouted, just the same. “You know your dad is hot, right?”
Slade didn’t know how Rose replied; the phone rang with a job, and Slade forgot about it in the process of arranging travel.
~~~
Assassination was not a job for the weak-willed or the light-hearted. He made a fortune destroying lives, and he was good at it. A previous life in the military and a lack of scruples over the actions of very rich men left him an incredibly dangerous person, the kind of man whose name wasn’t ever really said out loud in certain circles.
It was, on the whole, a satisfying way to spend his life. Hunting an animal wasn’t satisfying, when animals never really did anything to merit it. Hunting a person, on the other hand? A person always deserved it. It left him with a feeling of ease.
What it didn’t leave a lot of time for was the casual care of building familial ties. Wintergreen did most of the bureaucratic tasks of child-rearing for him after Addie left him, and since his sons were grown and Rose was almost finished with school, he had assumed that the house he was living in would be empty by June. Rose was on the early admission train to some college or another, and Slade was footing the bill for a summer program that would introduce her to the campus, or something. He didn’t actually know.
So when he came home from an incredibly successful trip in July to the air conditioning on, Orfeo ed Euridice on the house speakers, and Jason Wayne in his kitchen making something that smelled like lemon, garlic, and fresh basil slightly surprised was a bit of an understatement. “For fuck’s sake,” he yelled, his gun in hand but the safety still on. Burglars didn’t listen to classical opera; he genuinely thought for a second it might be Joey on some kick.
But no, it was Jason, staring at him with his hands covered in oil, his eyes huge as he swore a blue streak. “Shitfuckdamn,” Jason managed after a moment. “Fuck-”
“What the fuck are you doing in my house,” Slade demanded, although he was already slipping the gun away and pulling out the other weapon; his phone.
Jason raised both hands. “Mr. Wilson, sorry, Rose said you were out of town-”
Slade didn’t respond to that. Instead he just eyed the kid, while some balless boy whined about what he would do without Eurydice. Jason continued, “-and I needed a place to crash, I swear, Rose told me where the key was-”
Yeah, that sounded like Rose. “What’s wrong with your house?” Slade asked, setting his bag down.
Jason’s face went mulish, which was not a good look on him. He lowered his eyes a little, looking practically peevish, and the sharp turn of his mouth revealed a scar that pulled the edge of his lip. “My dad kicked me out,” he said, and it sounded just honest enough that Slade knew it had to be a lie.
Slade waited, but then Jason looked him in the eye, tilted his head back and met him with those blue eyes that were so crystalline that he could practically see into the swirling milieu of Jason’s soul. “So you came here,” was what Slade finally landed on, and for a moment, a single brief second, he was absolutely unsure of himself.
Jason shrugged. “It was better than the street,” he said, as if Slade’s house - not a manor but absolutely not a hovel, either, with a pool house and a sauna and a kitchen designed for a chef - was just one step above some rat infested shack in midtown Gotham.
“Daddy didn’t give you money?” Slade asked.
Jason snarled a little, then. The look wasn’t flattering on him, with that scar pulling on his lip. “He cut me off,” he said, “I was broke before, and I can be broke again.”
Slade laughed, then; the scene in front of him was absurd like that. This kid had lived in the lap of luxury - butler and all - for the last few years, and he ran away to a mansion. “Kid,” he started.
“I’m not a kid,” Jason argued. “Rose said it was okay. If you want me out, I can leave.”
Slade didn’t respond right away. Instead he set his bag down. “What are you making?”
Jason seemed slightly taken aback by that. “Uh,” he started, smartly, and then looked down at the mess in front of him. “Focaccia,” he finally said. “There’s a branzino in the oven.”
Slade looked at his oven, which was most often used for storage if Wintergreen wasn’t around, and noticed that yes, in fact, it was on. “You didn’t have money for a place to crash,” Slade started, “but you had money to buy a branzino?”
Jason flushed red. “It was in your freezer,” he stated. “And Rose,” he muttered, “gave me access to her credit card.”
Slade felt his eyebrows go up at that, and he pulled out his phone to check that card. There they were; some charges to Aldi, but that was it. Barely $40. Lemon and garlic, flour and oil, Slade thought for a moment, but then ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to go take a shower. Serve dinner, and then we’ll figure it out,” he said, because he was too fucking tired to deal with this without a meal and a shower.
Jason tipped his head, not down, but to the side, and Slade slipped out of the kitchen.
~~~~
Three weeks.
They agreed to three weeks, two of which were because Jason was actually a good cook and Slade was softened by branzino and the white wine that Jason found to pair with it. They agreed to three weeks and Jason, to his credit, started looking for a job and a place to stay just a couple of days after that agreement. The kid had a look to him like something smoldering; a fire just on the edge of being lit, and when he got into the pool Slade was almost surprised that the water didn’t simmer with him in it.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, Jason was asleep next to the pool in one of the lounge chairs in that way that only young men manage, limbs indolent and unkempt, shorts riding high on his legs, face slack with sleep in the warm sun, and Slade was reminded that he was not, in fact, a good man doing a good deed for the friend of one of his kids, because all he could think about was the silky heat of Jason’s skin and how it would feel under his hands, how soft and smooth his cock would be, how hot that tight ass would feel around him. Jason was not a small man and Slade always did like his men with that look, that military body that was built but not fake. So he sat on the other side of the pool and indulged himself, looking at first, just watching the even way that Jason breathed, and then he slid his legs apart and pressed his hand against his cock, over the fabric of his slacks, and just massaged the pressure there. The pleasure was slow and hot and just perfect; a gorgeous young man asleep, freckles in the sun, muscles that were used and not just for display, an ice-cold drink in one hand and his cock in the other.
He thought of how warm Jason would be right now, how easy it would be to turn him over, how he would make those syrupy sweet sounds of waking up to the press of Slade’s cock, how he would look with Slade’s cock in his lush mouth. He took a sip of his drink and focused on the way that Jason’s chest moved, the tight round nipples, the fucking lushness of his tits. Just a little bit more definition and he’d need a goddamned bra.
There was no rush, and Slade didn’t want to get off, so he just sat and palmed himself and watched Jason sleep another while, and thought of how good he’d look in lace panties, holding in his cock. Slade hadn’t seen him naked but he could imagine that, too, Jason just splayed out in a pair of lacy red panties, barely holding his cock in, a wet spot growing as he looked at Slade.
And then Jason’s eyes cracked open, and the words from that first time - you know your dad is hot, right? - slipped back into Slade’s brain. Jason didn’t move, he just opened his eyes a little wider, and color slipped into his face, pink around the edges and red in the middle. Slade took a long drink, and then he got up, slowly, purposefully, and went back into the house.
He knew that Jason wouldn’t leave, at least not right away. First off, he had nowhere to go; by his own admission, he wasn’t exactly flush with cash. And Slade wasn’t going to kick him out early if he didn’t put out. That wasn’t the deal. The deal was three weeks, and then Jason would find somewhere else to be, and sex, well, that wasn’t on the table. Slade may have been a bad man with a dirty mind and a sex drive of a much younger man, but he wasn’t a rapist, either.
But fuck if Jason wasn’t a little goddamned hussy. How the kid’s shorts got shorter, and how his shirts got cropped, Slade didn’t know. Jason clearly knew what he was doing to Slade, too, because he was so fucking strategic about it. He would sit in the living room on Rose’s old laptop looking for a job, which was the deal, but he’d have one leg up on the side of the couch practically over his goddamned head, his other on the floor, and Slade would stop and watch him even when Jason wouldn’t look at him. He’d go for a run and then sit on the porch in fucking public, sweat tangling his curls and dousing him, making him smell like something clean and something filthy both at once, while Slade sat checking his emails from the other side of the porch, his computer hiding his half-hard dick.
It was a hunt, and this was better than hunting a person, because he wasn’t sure if he was the hunter or the hunted. He was more fucking satisfied than he had been in years, jerking off in the shower to the uncertainty of it, the thrill of it, the way that Jason’s ass just peeked out of those fucking short cut-off shorts he had, the way that the scar on the edge of his mouth pulled his lip. He practically came at the thought of his body on top of Jason’s, and definitely came with the image of Jason’s ass, red as a fucking cherry from getting spanked as Jason writhed under him. There was no way that it was as good as Slade’s imagination.
But every hunt has a limit.
At the end of the second week, Slade was pretty sure that they were both going a little crazy, which was evidenced when Jason made linguine from scratch, using an old pasta maker that Slade didn’t realize he owned, and topped it with an alfredo so thick that it probably could have been used as wallpaper paste if it hadn’t tasted so goddamned good, and served it to Slade like he was a goddamned housewife.
Slade watched this with a hint of amusement, and when Jason was putting the first bite in his mouth, he leaned back a bit. “Heavy handed, aren’t we?”
Jason looked up, a smear of white sauce on the corner of his mouth, a spark of something in his eyes. “What?” he asked, and caught the sauce with his tongue. It was quick, but Slade saw the smear of white on the pink of his tongue like a beacon.
Slade got up, then, and Jason pushed his chair back just a little, but not enough for Slade to move between him and the table. He didn’t want to, anyway. What he wanted was to make this clear. “You know,” Slade said, but didn’t touch him, “exactly what you’re doing.”
Jason’s eyes sharpened a little. “You’re a filthy old man,” Jason said, but his tone said something else, something that sounded more like all it would take is one kiss and I would let you do whatever the hell you wanted.
“I never pretended to be anything else, kid,” Slade reminded him, and Jason’s hand stretched out then, just a moment, and hovered an inch away from Slade’s hip, and then retracted, like he was trying to get the courage up to touch him.
“I’m not a kid,” Jason said, and took another bite of pasta. This time when the white sauce painted a line on his lower lip, he didn’t lick it off.
Slade laughed. “Yeah you are,” he said. “You’re a kid who needs a heavy hand, aren’t you?”
Jason flushed, and it made Slade grin. “Come on, kid. Do you need a daddy?”
Jason swallowed, then, and he flicked his eyes up to look Slade in the eye. There was a long moment, tense, and right when it was about to get awkward, right when the only thing that Slade could have done was leave, Jason dipped his head and looked right down between his own legs. Slade could see his erection tenting the fabric there. “Yes,” Jason admitted, finally, the facade of the brat who had spent the better part of ten days in short shorts and crop tops and getting in and out of pools, sucking ice cubes like they were a replacement for a cock, dropping off him.
Slade would want that brat back, at some point, but right now, this was good. This was better than good; this was perfect. Slade looked down at Jason, at the erection straining his shorts, at the flush of red. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s exactly what you need,” he added, a moment later, one hand passing through Jason’s curls. It was the first time they touched, ever, Slade considered briefly, and Jason’s eyes slit closed. “Don’t touch yourself,” he whispered, leaning down. “You need to ask daddy to take care of you.”
Jason’s face flamed red and that’s when Slade knew that all that bratting and posturing was just that. This kid didn’t know shit about what he was in for, but he opened his mouth a little and nodded, but didn’t say anything, so Slade laughed. “Clean up,” he ordered, leaving his food entirely untouched, and he went to swim some laps and get the urge to bend the kid over the table and fuck him until he cried out of his system.
The ball was in the kid’s court.
~~~~
To Slade’s surprise, it took Jason almost two whole days of scurrying around the house, hurrying out of every room that Slade walked into, for him to get up the courage to come find him. Clearly the kid was suffering. He still sat by the pool, sunsoaked and looking like some young Greek god, he still went for his long runs and did half a thousand sit ups and push ups and enough burpees to make Slade want to throw up, and he still did it in his stupid short shorts, but every time he looked around, as if to make sure Slade wasn’t watching.
Slade actually thought maybe he misread the kid and crossed a line, but he hadn’t gotten a furious call from Rose, screaming that he was a pervert and a disgusting asshole, until the middle of the night on the second day, only days away now from Jason’s three week deadline, Slade woke up to the door opening to his room.
Slade slept with a gun in his bedside table and another one under his mattress, but he didn’t even reach for them. First off his alarm hadn’t gone off, and for another, he could hear Jason’s heartbeat in that same mesmerizing scale, and the smell of him, clean. He turned his head to look over, and then half his body, and Jason’s weight was on the edge of the bed then, one knee just on the mattress. Jason swallowed, and the sound was audible, thick. “Hi.”
Slade snorted the deepest part of a laugh. “Hey, kid,” he replied, and Jason’s hand did that thing where it fluttered over Slade’s arm, like he was trying to get Slade to touch him first, but Slade didn’t move. “You want something?”
Jason’s breath was harder, now. “Daddy, I really need to come,” he whispered, his voice deeper than Slade expected. The words hit Slade harder than the bullet to the eye, those years ago; the way that Jason was breathing and god, the fucking smell of him, clean and salty.
Slade’s own voice was hoarse in response. “Yeah,” he said. “Come here,” he added, and Jason crawled into his arms, then.
It was crass to think that his weight was better than the stark silence of his empty bed - anyone would be - but that was the first thing that came into Slade’s head, even as he dipped his hand against the fabric of the boxers Jason had been sleeping (had he been sleeping?) in, and then slipped them through the gap at the front. Jason’s cock was already hard enough to hammer nails in that way that only young men manage, and the skin was just as soft as Slade had imagined it.
He rocked his hand for a moment, and then pulled Jason close so that his cock was against the firm edge of Jason’s ass and Jason was flush against his chest. Jason cried out as Slade’s hand tightened. “This what you wanted?”
Jason nodded, wordless, and Slade pressed him harder against his own cock, stroking him firmly but without the speed needed to get him off. “Boy, when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”
“Yes,” Jason breathed, then. “That’s what I needed,” he keened, and Slade’s hips stuttered a quick, desperate rhythm at that.
And because of that, Slade paused his hand. Jason whined at the lack of movement, trying to writhe his hips, but Slade pinned him with one leg. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about, and I’ll let you have what you want,” Slade said, his voice deep. He felt like his dick was going to start trying to fuck the boy without him, but he was a master of nothing if not his own body, so he just ground his cock against the boy’s ass again.
Jason whined, and squirmed, and Slade let go for just long enough to give Jason’s cock a firm little slap, not hard enough to hurt him but hard enough to make him cry out and still. He took Jason’s cock in hand again, and gave it a familiar little squeeze. This was his now, he thought, privately, indulgently. Jason didn’t know it yet but it was.
Jason’s breathing quickened but he settled, like a good boy. “You,” he started, with a swallow, and he tipped his head back so that Slade could see the line of his nose, the haze of his cheeks in the dark. Clearly Jason knew that was too general, because he kept talking. “Your cock, inside of me, against mine,” he said, and Slade rewarded that with a little stroke, but not nearly enough.
Jason squirmed again, but he got himself under control and breathed in, and out. “You fucking me over your desk. Next to the pool house,” he added. “Your cock in my mouth,” he said after a moment, and Slade kept stroking him, but it wasn’t getting faster. Slade knew there was more in him, none of these general fantasies, this schoolboy bullshit. Jason had acted like a slut for two weeks to get Slade’s attention, and he had to know that kind of thing meant that Slade knew there was more in him than this vanilla crap.
So he needed a little bit of encouragement. Let it never be said that Slade wasn’t kind, when the mood struck him. “You have to do better than that,” he said, rocking his cock against Jason’s ass. He wanted to hear his fantasies so he knew just how depraved this kid was, and how dirty he could get.
Jason’s breathing slowed, as if being told what to do calmed him down. “I imagined you coming over my pecs,” he finally whispered, “and smearing it into my skin. You holding your cock, fuck, I bet it’s bigger than mine, fuck, and showing me that was what a real man looked like, and feeding it to me and making me hold it in my mouth for hours, while you took calls or whatever, while you just watched TV. I wanted you to let me kiss you until I came, humping your leg. I wanted,” he started to stutter, because now Slade was picking up the pace, now he was giving him what he needed. “I wanted to lick your asshole when I was being filthy because I’m filthy god I’m going to come I’m going to come,” Jason wailed, and he did, spilling over Slade’s hand and his own boxers.
Slade lifted his hand and pressed his dirty fingers into Jason’s mouth. Jason gasped and gagged around them, his tongue licking and licking, hot and slippery and so fucking inexperienced that it made Slade’s own balls tighten in warning. Jason sagged in his arms, whimpered a little. “You have no manners, kid,” Slade said, rocking his hips.
Jason turned in his arms and looked up at him. “What?”
“What do you say,” Slade replied, darkly, “when you get what you want?”
Jason swallowed some of his own come, and had that mulish look again, but then he squirmed a bit until-
“Thank you.”
Slade waited, and Jason fussed another moment, before he caught on. “Thank you, daddy.”
Slade smirked, and pushed him onto his back. Jason’s face was surprised, but then Slade pulled his briefs down just enough to cradle his balls in them, and jerked off onto Jason’s chest. “These,” he said, as Jason watched, his eyes huge, “aren’t your pecs, sweetheart. These,” he said, pressing his hand against Jason’s left pec and squeezing, “are fucking tits,” he added.
Jason’s mouth opened and closed. “And now you’re going to ask me to come on your tits,” he said, darkly.
Jason gasped, but the ragged sound that came out of him was pure desire, and it only made Slade’s smile widen. “Come on my-” he started, but clearly rethought the words and stuttered. “Please,” he added, and Slade almost came right there, just from that word alone. Fuck. “Please,” he repeated, “come on my tits, daddy.”
That was it; Slade practically saw stars exploding into the fucking nebula of space, and he came right over Jason’s tight little nipples. The moment after he lay back in the bed, and Jason lay next to him, quiet, until Slade finally softened a little. “Come here,” he muttered, tugging Jason back into his arms and scratching the back of his neck with his fingers.
Jason burrowed into his chest. “Can I stay here?” he asked, and Slade was already easing back to sleep.
~~~~
The best thing about the next day is that the only thing that changed was that now, Slade could actually stop Jason in his tracks and jerk him off or put Jason on his knees for a sloppy blowjob when he was acting like a fucking slut and showing off his ass or taking his shirt off for a swim. It turned out that Jason was an enthusiastic little cocksucker, eager to rub his face over Slade’s dick before and after, and laughed with a sort of unbridled pleasure at getting come in his hair even as he whined about it after.
The day before his three weeks were up, Wintergreen called around four in the afternoon with a job. Slade was going over the details when Jason came and sat on the edge of Slade’s desk, and Slade gave him a once-over. “Billy,” he said into the phone, “tell them I’ll do it, for another half mil.”
“I think you can get more,” Billy replied into the phone, as Slade was already running a hand up Jason’s leg. God, the thighs on this kid. “I’ll ask for another 75,” he said, and Slade was already distracted by the way that Jason was spreading his legs.
“Fine,” Slade replied. “Once the deposit clears I’ll head out,” he added, and hung up the phone without a goodbye. “You’re interrupting.”
“Half a million for a job?” Jason whispered.
“No, three and a quarter million for a job,” Slade replied. Jason thought, like Rose thought, that Slade was a corporate assassin - not a killer of people but a killer of corporations. The man that people brought in to dismantle and reassemble businesses, to destroy board rooms but leave everyone alive to lick their wounds after. He stood up. “You’re interrupting.”
Jason shrugged. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said, but his cock suggested that he was interested in something different.
Slade pulled him into his lap, so that Jason was straddling one thigh, and he encouraged Jason to rock his hips. He was so fucking pretty like this, needy and hard, rocking his hard little cock against Slade’s leg and breathing hard. “Slade,” Jason muttered, “c’mon, I have a real question.”
“I’m not stopping you,” Slade said with a laugh, hands on Jason’s hips to encourage this. There was a brightness to the way that he was smiling now. Jason was gripping Slade’s shoulders and humping like a fucking dog now. “You’re going to make a mess on my slacks.”
“I’ll clean it up,” Jason muttered in reply and kissed Slade with all the desperation in his body. “Please,” he muttered.
“Ask your question,” Slade commanded, instead.
Jason bit his lower lip and gasped at the same time, which made it sound extra painful. Slade felt a warm, low pleasure in his belly over that, and it made him rock his hip up. “Boy,” he said, “I don’t have all day.”
“Can I stay here a while longer?” he asked, finally, and Slade hauled Jason over his lap, then, tugging his shorts down so he could see his ass. “Hey!-” he yelped, but Slade landed a heavy hand on his ass and Jason squealed in protest. “I didn’t-”
“Shhh,” Slade said, smacking him again. “You’ll take what I give you, boy, and you’ll thank me for it,” he finished. He was being driven, now, he thought, by something else. Jason writhed a moment and got another slap for the privilege, and then he cried out and lay still. Slade slipped two fingers in his own mouth and then into Jason’s ass without preamble, and Jason whined but didn’t move. “Now,” Slade said, “ask again.”
“Can I stay-” he started, and Slade opened his fingers against the tight sphincter of Jason’s hole, and the words died in a squeak, and Slade took his hand out and gave him another slap. There was a heat in Slade’s body now, and he needed, fuck, he needed it out. Jason tried again. “Daddy, please, can I stay here a while longer?”
His voice was cracking and Slade realized he was crying, so he lifted him up. The tears made Jason’s face even more beautiful, even when he was red and splotchy, and he clung to Slade. “Please,” he breathed.
“You want to be my sugar baby, baby?” Slade asked with a rumble, and Jason just kissed him, on the beard, the mouth, the cheeks, like he was apologizing for something. “Go and take a shower, get cleaned up, and I’ll get dinner,” he said, and Jason looked at him with those big eyes. “And don’t touch yourself,” he added.
Jason looked down at Slade’s cock, a hunger in his gaze, but then he looked away. “You don’t want-”
“Go do as you’re told,” Slade commanded, and Jason just slipped out of the room. The second he did, Slade reached for his own cock and squeezed until he got himself under control. He was going to destroy that boy, he decided, before he was destroyed first.
~~~~
He left for the job two days later, one day after getting Jason a key and a credit card with a reasonable spending limit, and keys to one of the cars. “Don’t crash it,” he said.
“Won’t,” Jason confirmed after giving him a wriggling kiss, and checking under the hood. “I wouldn’t wreck something this nice.”
He came back after three weeks in what could only be described as the transcontinental chase from hell, his target having caught wind of his imminent demise. Most people don’t actually want to be killed, Slade found, and the craftiest of them were really fucking annoying about it. It was even more annoying knowing that at home was a warm body.
He stopped on the way home from the airport and bought a leather coat that was one size too small for himself, knowing that it would fit Jason, and then he bought some other things. A few pairs of lacy panties. Garters that would fit around a pair of gorgeous thighs. A cock cage.
Just a few romantic touches.
Slade snorted at that thought; he was not a romantic man. This was all possession, this was all pretty things for a possessive streak in him that he really hadn’t been able to indulge until now.
When he got home, Jason was being a pain in the ass, which was a gift in and of itself, because it meant when Slade turned Jason over and spanked him, making the younger man count them out and thank him for each one, and then fucked him with a rubber spatula from the kitchen, it felt vindicated and not vindictive; it made the past few weeks slip by him so that he could appropriately kiss his boy with all the pleasure that they both deserved, and without the bitterness of having spent most of his time gone sweaty, tired, and annoyed.
It also meant that when Jason asked for what he really wanted - college tuition to a Gotham University, Slade was soft enough and relaxed enough to give it. It would give Jason something to do, when Slade was away. Keep him busy.
The semester started and Jason was happy and Slade was calm, and everything was settling well enough, which is, of course, why it all turned so quickly to shit.
~~~
Slade did not, under his own power, attend galas. He doesn’t have any interest in paying upward of $500 to sit at a table with eight rich assholes and eat mediocre food while listening to speeches about charity. He doesn’t need to be bribed with high society to donate money; he’ll do it under his own volition if he fucking wants to, and generally, he doesn’t. When Rose was coming up, he donated some money here and there to charities for refugees because she asked him to, but then she stopped and so did the cash.
That said: his latest hit was in Gotham, and he was attending some gala for disabled kids with gout or trauma or traumatic gout. The details of the gala didn’t impress him, but he put on his tuxedo and left the house before Jason got back from class.
It was a dull as hell party, but halfway through the first hour Wayne showed up. Bruce Wayne was the darling of Gotham; everyone knew the sad sob story of his parents dying, and how he came up from that to run his company and save orphans. Considering how desperate Jason was for some fatherly attention, Slade didn’t think too highly of his parenting skills.
He did, however, find some perverse pleasure in knowing that just a few hours ago this man’s son, who had run away from him, was bent over his desk with a pair of panties that were soaked in his precome (and was that boy wet, he dripped like a girl) stuffed in his mouth as Slade railed him. He wondered if it would piss Wayne off, to know that his son screamed so prettily that it made Slade ache.
He wasn’t actually planning on talking to him, though.
Wayne clearly had other plans. “Mr. Wilson,” he said as he crossed the space between them, champagne in hand. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I hadn’t planned on coming,” Slade muttered in reply, but manners dictated he couldn’t flee, so he entertained himself by thinking of how much Jason begged to suck his cock this morning before he had to leave for class and how much Slade enjoyed making him do his coursework before he let him. “Rose asked me to,” he lied.
Wayne gave a fake little guffaw. “What we do for our children,” he said, and Slade tipped his glass a little as if to say indeed.
“And where are your children?” Slade asked, perversely. He wanted to hear what Wayne would say.
To his credit, Wayne didn’t flush or stammer or make any sort of untoward noise. “Dick is at school,” he said, “and Jason started his first year at Cornell.”
Well. That was a lie. “How’s he doing, then?” Slade asked.
“Doesn’t Rose tell you? I thought they were dating,” Wayne said as he took a sip of his champagne. Slade almost laughed in his face at the idea, but his puzzled expression must have sold that he didn’t know. “Last year they were. Certainly they were at the house together enough.”
Slade remembered Jason at his house, last year, kicking water in the pool and laughing at something Rose said. He remembered Rose’s smile. Jason had been the only one who could make her smile like that, her eyes brightening up when he told her that her hair didn’t make her look old, it made her look hot. He remembered how warm he had felt; he felt the same warmth now, and he narrowed his eye. “Rose doesn’t date,” Slade said, and it felt almost automatic.
Wayne did laugh at that. “How many kids do you have? You should know better than that,” he replied, and Slade felt a creeping sense of something against his back, like there were puzzle pieces he wasn’t putting together, but also the puzzle was something with teeth that was going to bite him in the back of the neck.
Fuck, he had a job to do. But he couldn’t let it go. A thought glanced off the inside of his head as fast as a bullet. I guess they don’t have a pool, was what Rose had said, the first time that she had brought Jason over.
Slade had tossed that away, then.
“Do you have a pool?” Slade asked, suddenly, and Wayne didn’t even look remotely surprised by this turn in the conversation. There was something, just there, just at the edge of where Slade could see. It was like when something moved on his bad side.
“Three,” Wayne said, dully. “I know, I know, but it’s a long story involving my oldest and his propensity for jumping off high places.”
Slade really didn’t care about that. He was reviewing everything he knew about Jason. He was reviewing it with the careful dispassion that he had built up over years of killing people, ignoring the slight burn of desire that crept up along the edges, and knew he had to finish the job before he could go home and interrogate this further. But while he was here. “The kids spent a lot of time there?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Wayne said with a slight tone in his voice of judgment, which was rich considering his son was currently holed up in Slade’s house getting fucked by a man over twice his age.
Slade shrugged. “I’m not really a very good father,” he reminded Wayne, and there was that awkward moment that happened when someone admits to something too personal and too honest. They both knew it wasn’t false humility prompting that admission.
It was, however, a very good way to end a conversation that Slade had no business in. He debated his options, weighed them, and decided on a course of action that led him to getting his mark, escorting him from the gala to a nearby abandoned lot, and he was in the process of tying him up to break his kneecaps before he killed him to make it look like a mob hit when he decided he had enough and called Rose, slipping the earpiece into his ear and stuffing the sweating, crying mark’s mouth with his own bow-tie to keep the noise from his screaming muffled. “Dad?” she asked when she answered the phone.
“Are you at a party?” Slade asked, because he could hear the thumping music in the background.
Rose snorted. “No,” she replied. “Just hanging out with a friend, what’s up?”
“Did you date Jason Wayne?” Slade asked, hefting the man’s leg in one hand and the end of a glock in the other, and smashing the handle into the man’s kneecap.
Rose paused. “What?” she asked. “Is this about my credit card? Because I can explain-”
“Answer me,” he said, and it would have been better if he knew exactly why this mattered to him so much. He broke the man’s other kneecap.
“Jason,” she emphasized, “is just a friend. He’s always been just a friend. Dad-”
Slade hung up the phone so that he could shoot the mark in the head - a silencer isn’t actually silent - shot the mark, and then answered the third time Rose called him back, the man dead as a doornail and the scene nicely set. “Okay,” she said, finally. “But you can’t freak out.”
That was less than promising. He grunted into the phone, and she went on. “We didn’t date, but we did sleep together. A few times.”
Slade wasn’t unfamiliar with rage. It was an old friend, up there with pain. It colored the way he looked at the world. Rose was his little girl, and Jason-
Rose had clearly kept talking, although Slade only caught bits and pieces of what she was saying. “It wasn’t serious, though. So chill out, okay?”
“Who says I’m not chill?” Slade asked, the phone cutting into his fingers.
“The way your breathing suddenly got all like you’re a bull who spotted a red flag, dad.” Rose replied, emphasizing the last word in a way that made her sound like Grant, like she was getting fed up with him. “Just leave him alone. He’s trying to get his life together after his dad cut him off, and so far I hear he’s doing okay.”
He’s doing okay, Slade didn’t yell, somehow, because I’m funding his entire goddamned lifestyle. He snorted. “I won’t hurt him,” he said. Your dad is hot he remembered, and Rose’s laughter, how Jason was the only one who could made her laugh like that, and the way Jason looked at him with those big blue eyes and that hooked smile and how he screamed Slade’s name like-
“I have to go,” he said, and that was true. He was already to the car, for starters, and also, because he had to go home and deal with business.
Rose started to say something, again, but this time when he hung up he also turned his phone off. He wondered if Rose would call Jason; he wondered if he cared.
When he got to the house, it was clear that Rose hadn’t called, or if she did Jason ignored it, because he was sitting on the couch with some Russian novel that was clearly written in Russian; Slade’s Russian is, at best, mediocre, so he didn’t even bother with checking the title.
He moved in, crowding the kid, one knee on his thigh, and Jason looked up with a startled expression in those big blue eyes. “Did you fuck Rose?”
“What?” Jason asked, guileless. “Slade-”
Slade knew, for a fact, that he didn’t always keep the best tabs on his emotions. Anger had always bled into something else, or everything else has bled into anger, and he’s not entirely sure which. And he was furious now, letting it cloud over everything, his hand slamming Jason down into the couch. “Did you fuck my daughter?”
Jason looked like he was calculating something, looking over the tuxedo, looking over the way that Slade was dressed, and then back at Slade’s face. It was only an instant, which was the only reason that Slade didn’t ask him again, before he answered. “Let me up,” he said, in a tone that Slade hadn’t heard before.
Slade did not comply. He turned his boy over and Jason flailed, and then got a sharp slap to his ass. “Did you fuck her?” he asked, and slapped him again. Jason was wearing a pair of sweats that absorbed some of the blow but not enough, judging from the way that Jason yelped.
“Don’t be stupid,” Jason said, and Slade bristled even more because it sounded like a warning, not a denial.
So Slade smacked him again, and Jason keened in a way that made the blood rush from Slade’s head to his dick. This fucking boy, his fucking boy, how dare he, Slade thought, and he tugged Jason’s sweats down to smack him on the bare ass, once, twice, three times.
And Jason, because he was a fucking slut, a little whore who can’t fucking help himself, keened again and twisted his hips, tilted them up for more. “Slade-” he tried, and his voice sounded wrecked.
“Did-” slap “you” slap “fuck” slap “Rose?” Slade snarled before he turned Jason around to face him.
There was something different in Jason’s face, then. It was rougher, less boyish, than he looked most of the time. He looked up and snarled, then, like a dog, “No,” he said, “she fucked me.”
Slade was so taken aback, for a moment, that when Jason pushed him down he actually fell to the ground, and his cock twitched at that. Jason straddled him and slapped him across the face, and Slade tried to snarl but found that his dick was even harder. “You like that, old man? You like the idea of your daughter fucking me with a strap on bigger than your cock?”
Slade did not like that, no. His dick had a slightly different opinion, but thank god, Jason let that one go as he dug his knee between Slade’s legs and rubbed. “No, I think you like that I won’t take this jealous bullshit from you.” He slapped Slade again, and laughed, just a little cruel, when Slade’s cock jerked under his thigh. “You know for all your big talk, you’re as much of a cockslut as me,” Jason breathed, his hands going into Slade’s hair.
Jason moved then, and Slade couldn’t help himself; he didn’t get up. Instead he just moved up on his elbows and watched as Jason took his sweats off. It wouldn’t have taken much. Jason caught him off guard and Slade was angry enough to hurt him but this turn of events-
-when Jason peeled Slade’s tuxedo pants down his cock was as erect as it had ever been, a wet spot where pre-come had built up betraying his arousal just as surely as his unbelievably hard dick. Jason weighed it in his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Your Rose fucked me,” he reminded Slade, as if either of them could have forgotten that they were there. “But you’re not angry at me for that. You’re angry that you weren’t here first.”
And he sunk onto Slade’s cock, already wet and ready - when had he gotten wet like that, wet like a girl’s pussy, hot like one, too. Slade groaned and Jason did something, something with his hips, and the groan turned slowly more needy. Fuck, he wanted to come. Slade reached to grab Jason’s waist, and Jason grabbed his hands and pinned them to his sides. “You’re not in charge today, daddy,” he sneered, and fuck if that wasn’t hot, fuck if that didn’t make every bone in Slade’s body want to liquify out his fucking cock.
“Brat,” Slade gasped, and Jason just laughed. “Brat,” he repeated, and thrust his hips.
Jason pulled back, then. “I said you’re not in charge. Do that again and I’ll leave,” he snapped, and Slade realized that this was happening, just like this. That Jason was going to use him like a fuckdoll, and Slade couldn’t do anything about it except take it.
And god, it was fucking glorious. Jason riding him looking like a goddamned angel, rocking his hips and laughing between his moans, and all Slade could do was watch him, and hope he remembered that Slade was under him. It was like all the rage was being fucked out of him every time Jason moved his hips.
Jason came minutes later without so much as touching his cock, spilling onto Slade’s stomach and chest and looked down. “Oh, daddy,” he said, with that cruelty simmering in his voice, “you didn’t like that?”
“You’re such a whore,” Slade said, and Jason grinned, his body tightening up. “You’ll give it to anyone.” He wanted to sound angry, but he just sounded desperate.
Jason slapped him again, and bore down, and Slade came with a rough shout. “Don’t be mean,” Jason replied, getting up off him, “or I’ll have to tie you down, the next time.” And then Jason leaned down, and gripped Slade’s hair in his hand. “You want to be jealous, you get someone who cares. You want to keep me around? You remember that I’m here because I want to be.”
Slade shuddered as Jason walked away, towards the shower, like Slade didn’t even merit the duties of a clean up. All Slade wanted was to turn, belly up, and follow him into the shower and maybe beg a little.
Fuck.
He was so fucked.