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Slade stirred slowly, the sheets rustling beneath him as he blinked awake at the white ceiling of Grayson’s apartment. It was still early; the sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and the room was bathed in the gentle glow of dawn. Pinks and oranges filtered through the sheer curtains, casting just enough light that he didn’t need to turn on the lamp.
He was an early riser. A stubborn holdover from his military years. Grayson, on the other hand, rarely got up before nine.
There was no point in wondering if he was awake. Slade could hear the steady, even pulse of his heart. Grayson was deep asleep and probably wouldn’t be stirring for hours. That’s what a lifetime of late nights earned you: a fucked-up sleep schedule and a caffeine addiction.
Not that Slade could complain. He was responsible for more than a few of those late nights himself.
The problem with waking up earlier than his boyfriend was that he was often left to his own devices, and on mornings like these, when he’d woken achingly hard, it usually meant taking care of things himself. He was well acquainted with his own hand, but having someone as gorgeous as Grayson, body warm and ready within arm’s reach, was its own kind of torment.
But maybe it didn’t need to be.
Grayson had already told him—more than once—that he liked waking up gently, with Slade’s arms wrapped around him to ease him into the day. And really, there wasn’t much difference between cuddling and what Slade had in mind. Hell, he’d practically asked for it.
Slade rolled onto his side and curled against Grayson’s back, pressing in close. His body was warm and his breath even warmer. He watched Grayson’s chest rise in a slow, steady rhythm. His lips were slightly parted, head turned to the pillow, hair falling across his face. Slade brushed it back behind his ear, allowing himself a moment to admire his beauty.
He looked so peaceful like this. Happy. And Slade intended to keep it that way, even if it meant taking things nice and slow. A sentiment he didn’t usually adhere to.
Slade rubbed his cock over the curve of Grayson’s ass, slipping easily between the crease, savouring the warm friction against his length.
He trailed a hand over Grayson’s hip, letting it settle on his thigh. His skin was tanned and smooth beneath Slade’s palm, broken only by scattered nicks and scars. Some he recognised; bullet grazes, knife wounds. One along his left thigh was his own doing, and the sight of it still sent a dark thrill through him. Others were stories he didn’t know yet. A map he intended to trace at his own leisure, learning every line of Grayson’s body until he had him trembling for more.
He grabbed a handful of plump flesh, squeezing just enough to feel the give without waking him. Grayson might look lithe at first glance, but power threaded through every line of him. Muscle coiling beneath warm skin.
Grayson shifted at his touch, head turning slightly, only for his mouth to fall open on a quiet snore. And honestly, how could Slade not take advantage?
He rested a fingertip lightly against his lips, testing to see if he’d stir. Grayson didn’t; he slept on, oblivious to Slade’s intentions. It should have been a sign of his trust—that his body felt safe enough not to wake at Slade’s intrusion—but all Slade could think about was that soft, wet mouth begging for his attention.
He slipped in two fingers, resting them on Grayson’s tongue. His lips instinctively closed around them, sucking, as he unconsciously pulled Slade in. Whatever dream he was having must have been a good one, because when Slade finally withdrew his hand, his fingers were soaked.
Grayson frowned at the loss; lips parted in quiet dissatisfaction. He clearly missed the fullness. Maybe next time Slade would indulge him, filling his mouth with his cock instead. The kid certainly knew how to use his tongue.
Slade let his hand drift lower and pushed one finger inside Grayson. He paused, looking for any signs of him waking. Grayson barely reacted; just a slight twitch. His body was loose with sleep, fully relaxed in a way only unconsciousness could achieve.
Satisfied, Slade continued slowly, giving Grayson time to adjust. He eased the other finger in and worked to stretch him open. Two would be enough. Grayson certainly wasn’t awake to complain.
He crooked his fingers, brushing against Grayson’s prostate. The reaction was immediate. Grayson let out a low moan, his body responding before his mind could. Even in sleep, pleasure curled in his gut, and he hardened against his stomach.
Good. At least Slade knew he’d feel him.
Slade pulled out his fingers and began stroking his throbbing cock. Precum beaded at the tip, aching to be touched. He crudely spat into his hand, coated his length with spit, then pressed his cockhead against Grayson’s entrance. At first, he met resistance. But with a few firm nudges, Grayson opened up for him, and Slade sank into his warmth.
The tightness was welcome, but Slade needed more. He forced himself to stay still, focusing on the steady rise of Grayson’s breaths, watching for even the slightest change. Every part of him begged to move, to chase the friction he’d been denied all morning. But he held back. He didn’t want to wake him.
Not yet.
Slowly, agonisingly so, he started to move inch by inch. His hands rested on Grayson’s hips, flush with his body. He wasn’t used to this kind of pace. With them, it was usually rough and urgent, stolen moments on rooftops or between missions.
But on mornings like this, when the world slowed to a crawl, and it was just the two of them, Slade could take his time.
As he thrust into him, small sounds escaped Grayson’s lips; quiet moans, broken breaths. His body was responding, even in sleep. He wondered what Grayson was dreaming about, and if the version of Slade in those dreams was also fucking him.
He shifted his angle, deliberately seeking the spot he knew would unravel him. His cockhead dragged across Grayson’s prostate with every thrust, eliciting such wonderful noises from him. It spurred Slade on, his grip tightening as his movements grew more forceful.
By now, Grayson’s cock was leaking, making a mess of the bedsheets. Its head purple and swollen. He was clearly on the verge, where one touch would send him over.
Having Grayson like this—vulnerable, unaware—filled Slade with a surge of power, a sense of absolute control. He could do whatever he wanted to him; use him as a hole, fuck him senseless, anything.
Don’t get him wrong, he liked their fights, their back-and-forth. Half the fun was the chase. But having Grayson quiet and docile, without needing a gag to keep him that way, was something else entirely. No quips. No talk-back.
He was under Slade’s control, and what Slade said went. And he was man enough to admit that it did something to him, stirring memories of their old dynamic. Back when Grayson was Robin, and he was Deathstroke, facing each other across a battlefield.
As his fantasies ran away from him, Slade let himself get lost in the moment. Maybe a little too much, because Grayson began to stir. His breathing hitched, heartbeat picking up, eyelids fluttering open in confusion.
The instant awareness hit him, his body clenched around Slade, squeezing his cock. Slade didn’t stop; he couldn’t. He kept fucking Grayson with reckless abandon.
“Oh—fuck, what’s—” Grayson gasped, voice breaking.
“Mornin’,” Slade said.
“What are you—” Grayson’s protest dissolved into a sharp moan, head tipping back as pleasure crashed over him. He’d woken up teetering on the edge of an orgasm, Slade’s cock pumping in and out of him without warning.
“God—Slade—this isn’t what I—” He bit his lip, muffling a moan. “—what I meant about a morning wake-up.”
“Do you want me to stop?” he teased.
“Fuck, no!” cried Grayson. He met Slade’s thrusts, bracing one leg on the bed for leverage.
Slade reached around and fisted Grayson’s cock, effectively ending the conversation there and then. Whatever Grayson had been about to say vanished, replaced by a broken sound as he rocked into Slade’s touch, already slick with need.
“Don’t—ah—please don’t stop,” Grayson pleaded, his body clamping down tightly.
Slade took that as all the permission he needed. Any concern about keeping him asleep was gone. He drove forward with renewed force, hips snapping on instinct as he chased his own release.
With one final stroke, Slade pushed him over the edge. Grayson cried out, eyes half-lidded and mouth falling open as pleasure overtook him. He shuddered as he came, sending a streak of cum into the rumpled sheets, adding to the mess.
Slade wasn’t far behind.
He let out a low grunt as the mounting pressure built. Slade slammed his hips into Grayson, cock twitching as he finally came. It pulsed once, two times while he released his load, coating Grayson’s insides. He continued to gently thrust into him, pushing his cum deep inside. Claiming him.
Afterwards, he stayed where he was, breathing heavily, their bodies still joined as the tension drained out of him. He felt his cock gradually soften, but he didn’t pull out. The warmth of Grayson’s body kept him there, exactly where he wanted to be.
“That was... uh, something,” Grayson managed, sounding dazed. For once, he didn’t have the words. “Not a bad way to start the day,” he added weakly.
Slade hummed in agreement. “Mmm.”
He wrapped his arms around Grayson, holding him flush against his chest. Grayson relaxed into him immediately, nuzzling closer, clearly pleased to get his morning cuddle after all.
“If a morning fuck gets you this happy,” Grayson joked with a lop-sided smile, “maybe I should let you use me more often.”
“Just say the word,” breathed Slade.
Grayson sighed into his pillow, already drifting. “Then please... wake me like that tomorrow,” he mumbled.
Slade smirked, curling in behind him. He’d be more than happy to.