Title: Blinding Rage

Author: Jordan Herbert

Rating: M throughout the entire fic.
Genre: Angst/Noncon/Twist/AU
Pairing: Sladin
Summary: This is their life now. Neither is happy with it.

Author's Note: Is it someone's Birthday? A holiday? Any special occasion? No, it's an update simply for being an update!~ Oh how rare and wonderful, right? Wrong! It's noncon.

Blinding Rage

Robin stood silently in the small kitchen, his thoughts racking through his mind as the fish sizzled in the frying pan. The sea scent was overpowered by the parmesan cheese he had on top of the fish. It seemed like an odd combo but he liked it and it was one of his master’s favorite dishes. The carrots that they would have as a side dish were sitting in the middle of the table with ranch dressing for dipping and the Mac-N-Cheese was all done and simply sitting on the stove at a low level to keep it warm.

He made sure that everything was perfect as his apron danced on his naked thighs every time he shifted from one leg to the other. He was so nervous for his master to get back to their large apartment; he never knew what kind of attitude his master would be in when he returned home.

He heard the door open and waited a moment, a small smile blooming on his face until he heard a loud, familiar thud of a fist colliding with the wall. No doubt it left another mark.

Robin tensed and remained facing the stove as he felt his master enter the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, Robin braced himself with a large smile and turned. “Welcome back, master,” Robin greeted, taking notice of the narrowed grey eye, matching the other’s grey hair. “Dinner’s almost ready. I cooked that fish and cheese dish you like so much.”

“Dinner can wait,” he snapped as he loosened his tie and began to unbutton his overcoat. “I want you in the bedroom, now.” He turned on his heal and disappeared from Robin’s sight.

“Yes, Deathstroke,” Robin nodded, a frown crossing over his face. He turned all of the stove’s settings onto low and took another deep breath to try and contain his trembles. Slowly, he headed across their sitting room, glancing out of the large windows at the city, and down into the dark, foreboding hallway. He looked at the guest rooms farther down from his own shared room and sighed as he entered.

The connected bathroom had a closed door and Robin could hear the sound of running water. “Want me to leave the apron on?” Robin asked, as he knocked on the door, trying to make light of the situation.

“Take it off,” Deathstroke snarled and Robin gulped as he backed away from the door. He untied the bow behind his back and pulled it off from over his head. He hung it on the bedroom’s doorknob and sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the apron.

Deathstroke opened the bathroom door and threw his overcoat toward their closet. He had half of the buttons on his undershirt already undone and continued on his task. “Take those off too,” he growled as he motioned to Robin.

Robin nodded wordlessly and pulled at the skin colored stocking. He rolled it off from the crease of his thigh and hip all the way down to the holes where his toes stuck out. The stocking was like an extra layer of skin, the same color tone as Robin’s skin, and perfect for covering the welts, marks, and cuts all across his legs. Both stockings were off and Robin watched Deathstroke’s shirt fly across the room to join his coat. Slowly, Robin took off his long gloves that ran up to his elbows. He wiggled his fingers experimentally. He had worn the gloves for so long he had started to forget what everything felt like without the thin layer of lace overtop.

Deathstroke slid his pants off and pulled the leather belt out of the loops, folding it over and giving a deafening, experimental snap with it. Robin stared forward and tried to compress his shivers as Deathstroke walked in front of him.

Gently, Deathstroke took Robin’s left hand and turned it over and over slowly as he searched for the perfect spot to add a new welt to. It was starting to get hard to find new spots that weren’t covered already. Deathstroke’s thumb rubbed against Robin’s smooth palm and he released that arm to give his other arm the same treatment. Then he stepped between Robin’s legs and pushed them apart.

He knelt down and examined Robin’s legs, his eyes thoroughly taking in the harsh red marks contrasting against Robin’s pale skin tone. Deathstroke smirked and ran his thumb up and down a smooth patch on the inside of Robin’s thigh. Robin shuddered.

“Roll over, arms first,” Deathstroke ordered and Robin instantly obeyed. It wouldn’t be wise to make him angrier. He dropped to his bruised knees and placed his stomach to the bed, stretching his arms over the bed in front of his head as he rested his chin on the bed and blankly stared out before him. He had to watch the first stroke, and then he could close his eyes. If he didn’t, the surprise of the first would make him cry out louder.

He still yelped in pain when the first stroke was delivered. Then he clenched his eyes shut tightly as the room filled with the crack of the belt against his skin. Deathstroke, at least, wasn’t using the end with the buckle; he wasn’t that angry then.

Robin whimpered as the belt fell again and again against his arms. His fingers dug into the bed comforter and his knuckles were pelted then with the belt until his hold loosened. His arms were smacked again for good measure. It finally stopped and Robin hoped that his arms were done. His arms hurt the most.

“Turn them over, palms open and up.” The demanding voice hissed and Robin did as he was told. His left palm was struck suddenly with the buckle and Robin yelped and curled his hand into a protective fist as his eyes opened with shock. “What are you doing?” Deathstroke screamed.

Robin uncurled his fist and looked at Deathstroke with teary eyes. “Sorry,” he apologized softly. Deathstroke curled his lip up and struck Robin’s palm again and again.

“You will be,” he snarled as he continued to strike Robin’s palm with wonderful accuracy until Robin’s palm started to bleed.

Deathstroke moved behind Robin and nudged his legs farther apart from each other. He instantly hit Robin’s tender thighs with the belt buckle and Robin cried out, his body jerking. “Don’t move,” Deathstroke shouted and brought the belt farther up and back, really lashing at Robin.

Robin began to sob softly as his legs spasmed with sudden jolts of pain. His thighs were so sensitive and Deathstroke knew that. Robin didn’t mean to but he started to subconsciously count until he reached twenty and then he jerked forward on the bed, crawling forward on his belly so that the back of his knees were struck instead for a blow.

Deathstroke growled and grabbed Robin by his neck. “You’re being bad, Robin.” He bellowed angrily.

“Please,” Robin’s tears fell from his eyes and a sob escaped from his throat. “Please, that spot hurts so much.”

“That’s the point,” Deathstroke snarled and pulled Robin back to the edge of the bed and struck the same spot for another five lashes. “You fucking brat,” he sat down, the bed creaking under his weight. “I’ll make you sorry.” He promised as he picked Robin up by the scruff of his neck, making him gasp and shake with sobs as he was laid over Deathstroke’s knees.

Without warning, Deathstroke’s hand came down on Robin’s rump. Robin jerked and yelped as he was struck again by those large hands. He knew that Deathstroke wouldn’t finish until his behind was sore.

“Sorry, sorry,” Robin began to chant as he sobbed and tears trailed down his face. “I’m so sorry, sorry, Deathstroke, I’m sorry.” Deathstroke’s finger pushed into Robin’s mouth and Robin closed his eyes as he sucked and licked at the digit.

Deathstroke didn’t stop until Robin’s rump was red. He pulled his finger out and then tossed Robin easily onto the bed. Robin moved to his knees and elbows, body visibly trembling now as he sobbed and waited. He was able to collect himself a bit, at least enough to stop his tears for the moment while he continued to wait.

“My finger’s getting dry again, Robin. Go ahead and take your time, I can wait all night; it’ll only be worse for you.” Deathstroke growled and Robin frowned.

Robin’s eyes widened and he mentally cursed himself. Deathstroke didn’t like the act of rape so Robin had to always act like he wanted it and that included presenting and offering himself. Robin bowed his head as he murmured, “Please, Deathstroke, take me.”

“Louder, Robin,” Deathstroke snarled as he shoved his finger into Robin’s little hole.

Robin groaned. “Please, Deathstroke, take me, please. I love the feel of you in me.” He moaned again as Deathstroke twisted his finger and pulled it out. Robin tensed as he heard the spit sound. He scolded himself that tensing was the worst thing to do and tried to take in a deep, calming breath but Deathstroke shoved in before he had the chance. Deathstroke was so large and even now the size still burned and stretched him.

With a loud pained moan, Robin called out, “Oh yes, that feels so good.” He bowed his head as Deathstroke pulled out. He was on the verge of tears again by the time Deathstroke settled on a pace, pushing in and out in and out of Robin’s small, trembling body. “So good, you’re so good, Deathstroke,” Robin stated to cover up a sob.

“Fuck,” Deathstroke cursed as he gripped Robin’s hips and pulled Robin down on himself as he thrust up, making it deeper inside Robin. Robin moaned lowly and tried to make it sound like a pleasurable moan. He was good at faking pleasurable sounds. “Fuck, Robin, fuck.” Deathstroke growled and shoved Robin down once more as he yelled and came. Robin focused on his muscles and tightened around Deathstroke as he moaned loudly, faking an orgasm. He was just glad Deathstroke never bothered to check.

Deathstroke’s heavy panting filled the room as Robin waited patiently for him to pull out. Deathstroke rolled onto his back and brought an arm over his eyes as he continued to pant.

Robin wiped at his eyes with his good hand, his left palm still stinging, and slowly sat up. “I made a mess of myself,” he forced a smile at Deathstroke and moved from the bed, grabbing his stockings and gloves from the floor. “I’d better clean up and continue with dinner.”

He moved quickly to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Robin reached for the sink and turned the cold handle as far as it went. He splashed the refreshing water on his face and changed the temperature as he started to clean off his bleeding palm and wash at his thigh. Those were going to be new welts. The other damage to his arms were simply going to be marks.

Once his stockings and gloves were back in place and he had collected himself, Robin shut off the sink and left the bathroom. The panting had stopped and Robin stared at the figure on the bed. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were still grey or not.

Robin went to the dresser and grabbed a pair of shorts for himself, slipping them on. He stood at the door and placed his apron back on as well, retying it behind his back. “I’m going to finish dinner. It should be done in a few minutes. Come out when you’re ready,” Robin offered as he left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

He walked back to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths as his body finished with a few trembles. The food was ready and he started to make up the two plates as he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

“Go ahead and take your seat,” Robin glanced over his shoulder, meeting a dark blue eye. He turned fully, the dishes in his hands, and smiled. His master took his normal seat at the small table in the kitchen and Robin sat his plate down in front of him with a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll fetch you a nice big glass of lemonade.” He offered with his smile still on his face as he went to the refrigerator. “I made a big pitcher this afternoon.” He left the pitcher on the table as he sat two filled glasses out.

Robin stood on the other side of the table and sliced his fish up. He picked his plate up with his left hand carefully and lifted a forkful of fish to his mouth, chewing and enjoying the mixed flavors in his mouth.

“Why aren’t you sitting?” Robin glanced at his master and swallowed before he answered.

“I’ve been sitting all day, I might as well stand.” Robin replied with a bright smile. His master’s eye narrowed at the forced smile. Robin was never good at faking his emotions.

“You stood last night,” he accused. “I want you to sit tonight.” Robin frowned and nodded, putting his plate and fork down. He pulled his chair out and slowly started to sit. He caught his master’s gaze and smiled as he gently sat down. Despite his efforts, he still couldn’t stop the hiss and slight wince. “God damn it!” Robin winced again as his master swept his plate off of the table and it shattered on the ground.

“Slade,” Robin frowned as he watched his master cup his head in frustration. Robin sighed and scooted his chair back.

“No, Robin, stay seated.” Slade rubbed at his eye. “I shouldn’t have acted so rashly but I did. It’s my fault and my mess, I’ll clean it up.” Slade stood from the table and grabbed the roll of paper towels they kept in the cupboard under the sink.

“You can have my plate,” Robin offered once the mess was clean.

“I don’t really have much of an appetite.” Slade threw the last of the glass pieces into the trash can and simply stared at it.

“But it’s one of your favorites,” Robin countered, staring at his master, concerned.

“Robin,” Slade sighed and turned to face him. He looked Robin up and down and sighed miserably. “Why does this keep happening? Why can’t I get better?”

“It’s okay, master,” Robin murmured from the table. “I’m okay with this life now. I’ve adjusted,” he smiled sadly.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” Slade snarled. He lashed out at the counter and swept the dirty pots and pans from the stove top. They clanged loudly to the ground and Slade approached Robin, dropping to his knees in front of the boy. “I know you probably don’t believe this, Robin, but I never wanted to hurt you like this.” Slade grabbed Robin’s hand and Robin hissed. Slade instantly dropped his hand.

Robin frowned and cradled his left hand to his chest. “Let me see it,” Slade ordered softly and Robin removed his glove. Slade shook his head sadly as he stared at the bright red welt in his palm. “You couldn’t hold a bo-staff even if you wanted to.”

“I’m sorry, master.” Robin apologized, thinking that it was what Slade wanted to hear.

“We’re both so messed up, apprentice. You, an innocent boy with a case of Stockholm syndrome, and myself, a monster with dissociative amnesia.” Slade sighed.

“You’re not a monster, Slade.” Robin smiled.

Slade laughed bitterly as he rose. “If you were healthy, my boy, you would think differently.” He patted Robin on the head and left the room. Robin remained sitting for a while before he put his glove back on and started to clean up.