Forced Compliance

Rated T

Preface: This is for Death Merchant and RobinRocks, as a thank-you to getting me into the whole SladeNightwing world. If you two happen to stumble across this, I hope you enjoy it.

It was at times like this when he wanted nothing but the quiet hush of the rain and the vibrations of distant, rumbling thunder. He even found the rooftop for that purpose—to get away from it all. To get away from the stereotypes, the criminals, the darkness of his lonely home… everything that he hated.

And so he lay on the concrete, eyes closed, the odd drop of rain slipping between his barely-parted lips. The taste of clean water was so rare, but when he got away from the industrial part of the city he found it, and it was cleansing.

A lightning strike lit the back of his eyelids, a backlight to the tangled veins underneath. A succinct thunderclap followed, instantly followed by another flash.

But the flash was dimmed; a shadow blocked him from its light. Nightwing's eyes snapped open, his spine popping as he leapt to his feet. A quiet moment… destroyed.

He barely caught the glint of bronze armor in the dim light but—there, there it was, and again.

"Hm," mused the man standing across the rooftop from him. "And you looked so peaceful, too."

"Slade." No surprise, no fear. Only raw emotion, an angry simmer at the front of his tone.

"Enjoying the rain?"

"I was."

The single eye narrowed, visible even through the darkness. "Yes, yes, past tense is a wonderful thing. Similarly, I was enjoying seeing you at peace… and then you jumped up, and ruined the entire effect."

"You got too close," Nightwing growled, snapping out a bo-staff, spinning it to his hip. "Fortunately, that means I don't have to chase you down."

"You couldn't find me if you tried," Slade murmured, taking a heavy step forward. He took another, then a third. "Why do you think I come to you? If it weren't for me, we'd never cross paths."

"I could find—"

"You fail to see," he continued, moving slowly closer, "how kind I truly am to you, Robin."

"Nightwing," he corrected through gritted teeth.

A pause, and then, "Robin."

"You—!" Nightwing darted forward, feinting right, leaping left. Stiff fingers curled around his ankle as soon as he was airborne, the hand slamming him onto his back. He hit the concrete and felt the distinct whoosh of air from his lungs.

Slade released him and circled, watching as Nightwing gulped in oxygen, struggling to sit upright.

"What…. What do you… want?" he gasped, cradling one elbow to his chest. He'd hit it, hard; blood flowed freely from the scrape and the pain suggested a fracture.

"What do I want, Robin?"

"Nn… Night—"

Slade was abruptly at his side, bending down, fingers tangled in Nightwing's black mane. He yanked, making the hero choke out a cry of surprise as their eyes met.

"I want you to submit to me," he growled simply, and then his mask was off and his mouth was on Nightwing's; a brutally unyielding kiss.

In less than a second, Slade was on his knees, harsh hand supporting the back of the hero's head while his other hand trailed his jawline. Nightwing's mouth opened slightly, giving in, and Slade bit at his bottom lip. He was gentle at first but then unrelenting, shoving into the crime-fighter's mouth, ignoring his need for breath.

Nightwing's head started to spin as asphyxiation set in; he was still gasping, but with Slade's mouth—not wholly unwanted—on his, breathing was impossible.

"Stop—" he panted when Slade pulled back the slightest, but the demand was ignored, the villain doing all but lessening his hold.

His vision began to tunnel and he raised his good arm, digging his fingers into Slade's throat, shoving him away. "Stop!" he panted, turning from him, breath labored. He couldn't seem to see, or even feel. He could only taste Slade, mixed with—and heightened by—the rain. "Can't… breathe…!"

"Good, Robin," came the answer, strangely distant. "Suffocate for me, my precious little bird."

When the only sound remaining was the patter of rain, Nightwing collapsed back against the concrete, knowing Slade had disappeared. He closed his eyes, regaining his senses one by one, chest heaving to suck in lost breath.

Running his tongue over his lip, he tasted blood and cracked a smile. That's how Slade worked; a moment of harsh kindness and then he inflicted an injury, mental or physical, that would stay in mind until he could come put a new mark on his favorite bird.

Nightwing tipped his head back as thunder rumbled from nearby, smile still on his face. Maybe he was just masochistic… because it was at times like this when he appreciated the cage Slade attempted to enclose him in.

Comments would be much appreciated, as this is a first attempt at the pairing. Even if it's just to say what you didn't like about it…