~SladeBilly/Winterstroke~

Until the day he does.

Warnings : +18, oral sex, teasing, mentions of STIs, internalized homophobia.

Wintergreen noticed far more things ever since he'd started sleeping with Wade, a few times a month, whenever his cravings ate away at his brain and he would go find the young man wherever he'd gone to bury himself at the time. It was like studying one specimen through another. Through Wade, he came to understand certain things about his best friend. Certain habits. Sometimes, he nearly gave himself away.

When Grant was born and Adeline remarked that the baby had inherited a small birthmark on the nape of his neck from her, Wintergreen had casually pointed out that Slade had one too—a larger but narrower mark high on his left thigh, just beneath the buttock. Fortunately, Adeline had been too exhausted from the ordeal of childbirth to notice how strange such a comment was. She had merely sighed :

"You're right, it's a birthmark... For the longest time, I thought it was just a scar."

Slade never knew about it either.

A few days later, Wintergreen had gone down to Louisiana to spend the night with Wade.

Thoughtfully, he had traced the arrow-shaped birthmark with his fingers before moving higher to grab and squeeze his ass, as though trying to conceal the previous gesture.

"No, wait... Do it just like before again. I like that."

Wade had spoken lazily. He was lying on his stomach, and his hair—once again completely brown—brushed the top of his back every time he moved his head.

Wintergreen had slid his fingers over the birthmark again, lingering just a little as he kneaded the flesh there. Then Wade had turned over. They fucked for a long while.

Wintergreen lived this double life in a state of perpetual astonishment. Sometimes, he felt almost detached from his own body. It simply seemed too absurd that these ideas, these desires, could have come from himself. And yet it was always him calling at all hours of the day, hoping to soothe the unbearable itch brought on by a sudden, violent image, by a desire he had never suspected he possessed.

And Wade almost always picked up.

Always the same mocking rasp in his voice, the same provocative lines, always more vulgar and repulsive than the first time. Wintergreen saw the humiliation of those calls as punishment for the moral horror of what he was doing. Maybe Wade knew it and offered him that punishment as a kind of placebo for redemption. Maybe he just enjoyed it.

Maybe that was simply who he was.

Wade, on the other hand, never called.

Even though he answered. Even though he almost always said yes.

Wintergreen told himself that perhaps the young man feared breaking the spell of the situation. Ruining the pleasure of seeing Wintergreen always crawl back to him, rather than the other way around.

Sometimes, though, Wade would send him pictures of himself. Never pretty selfies, or pictures of landscapes or animals. Raw things. Intimate things. Everything that could land Wintergreen in deep trouble if Slade happened to glance at his phone at the wrong moment.

And Wade surely knew that.

Otherwise, why would he send him a picture of his cock on a Sunday at noon, when Wintergreen had once carelessly let slip that he spent those times at Slade and Addie's place?

But aside from that, no.

Wade never called.

Then, one winter night, Wintergreen was awakened by his phone ringing.

Wade's number appeared before his half-open eyes, irritated by the sudden burst of glaring white light. Wintergreen's own voice was sluggish too, roughened by sleep. Wade's, on the other hand, was frantic. Boiling over.

"That fucking asshole... I'd seen him several times, and he wanted us to do it without a condom... That son of a bitch definitely gave me something, I'm sure of it! Fuck, I just found out that the bastard has AIDS, that piece of shit-"

Wintergreen listened to Wade ramble in absolute panic for a few minutes before finally interrupting him.

"Wade... Take a deep breath. If you're telling me you had unprotected sex, then you need to get tested anyway. And it doesn't necessarily mean you caught it, so... calm down."

Wintergreen found it difficult to feel sorry for Wade. The feeling that dominated him at that moment was that he'd never been so grateful for always having been careful about protection. If Wade had something, he himself had nothing.

On the other end of the line, Wade let loose another stream of curses, including a generous number of homophobic slurs, before finally calming down. Now there was only the uneven sound of his breathing as he struggled to come down from his panic attack.

"I'm in Chicago right now... I'll give you the address. You're comin'."

No "please, I don't want to be alone if I find out I've caught the virus." No "I need you to hold me." Just a commanding order delivered with such seriousness that, had the circumstances been less tragic and chaotic, Wintergreen might almost have laughed.

Wade gave him the exact address. Wintergreen hung up, and once the surprise, relief, and pity had passed... came the realization.

In his panic, Wade had called him.

And Wintergreen most certainly did not want that place in his life.

Two days later, he showed up at Wade's apartment anyway, his boots buried in the thick blanket of snow that had overtaken the narrow staircase.

Wade answered the door with red eyes and a face even gloomier than usual. As so often, the skin over his knuckles looked ugly, and it wasn't hard to guess what—or rather whom—his fists had crashed into.

Despite his hesitation, Wintergreen gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, followed by:

"Come on Wade. No backing out now. Let's go."

Wade whimpered a little.

"What's the point? That son of a bitch has it, and he knew he had it when we fucked, and he fucked me three times. THREE times. I'm done for. I'm screwed."

Later, in the back of the cab, Wade kept lamenting.

"Look at me. I'm a mess. I've lost ELEVEN pounds in three weeks, I've had a fever... The virus has already kicked in. I know it."

Wintergreen wasn't sure of anything, but he still tried to calm him down. Wade was an asshole, sure, but... that didn't justify leaving him alone to face something like this.

He gently patted the back of Wade's hand.

"Hm... And have you been eating much since you got here? You tell me all the time that sometimes you go whole days without eating and forget to do so altogether... And as for the fever... considering you just walked out of your apartment in nothing but a sweater in weather like this, I think the explanation might be a lot less dramatic..."

Wade found something to object to at every turn, but at least he stopped kicking the passenger seat of the taxi, much to the relief of the driver, who responded to Wintergreen’s apologies with awkward smiles and anxious glances in the rearview mirror.

Later, Wintergreen found himself sprinting after Wade to catch him when the young man, once they had arrived at the clinic, finally declared he actually didn’t want to know.

The results of the blood test—against which Wade had fought for quite some time—arrived a few hours later. Wade had disappeared into one of the examination rooms…

And came back a few minutes later into the waiting room with a wide stupid smile on his face, holding up what must have been the results sheet above his head.

“Fuuuck, I can’t believe it, I’m actually totally clean—you get that?! Not even crabs or anything! Look, they even gave me free condoms, talk about saving money. Though you might wanna get tested too while we’re here. Maybe I can just throw these away y'know?.”

Wintergreen grabbed Wade by the sleeve of his faded sweater, relief mixing with the familiar irritation the young man always provoked in him.

On the way back in the taxi, the atmosphere was completely different. Wintergreen had never seen Wade like this—not even high on whatever he usually had in his system. Not even after a good fuck with him in bed. Now Wade was talking with the taxi driver, running through the snow, insisting on buying peanuts from a street vendor. And for once… he wasn’t saying anything awful. No crude jokes, no endless rants about how Slade was the worst person in the world and how Wintergreen was pathetic for fantasizing so much about a man who only cared about appearing respectable while doing Wade so much, so much harm.

It was pleasant.

Almost too pleasant. Wintergreen did his best not to think about it.

The apartment Wade had taken in Chicago was slightly less squalid than usual. No rats or insects crawling across the floorboards, no questionable leftovers in the sink, no grim stains on the walls… And the view from the bedroom, over the stairwell and the snowy streets, had a certain charm to it.

Wintergreen kept glancing out the window from time to time while he held Wade firmly pinned on his back in the bed, his thrusts dragging him across sheets already too damp.

Wade had been eager to end up in that position, instantly forgetting all the times earlier that day when he had angrily spat that he would “never let another man touch him again in his life, condom or not,” saying he’d learned his lesson. Wintergreen couldn’t help but throw his hypocrisy back at him now, as he had him beneath him, the young man’s body clenching around him in an impossibly tight way.

“You’re never gonna let another man touch you again, huh? And what’s this then?”

He put emphasis on the last word with a sharper thrust, directly against his prostate, forcing a surprised, embarrassed sound out of Wade.

Even after months of this, the British man could still make him like that—fidgety, cheeks flushed red all the way to his ears, his body soft and pliant against the mattress…

Most of the time, it only encouraged him to go faster. Harder. To turn those sounds into cries so he could tease him later, remind him that he knew exactly where to touch him, what angles to use so he wouldn’t miss a single sensitive spot, how he liked his hair pulled when he was close to orgasm…

Seeing him like that again, clutching the sheets in his fists out of sheer pride rather than wrapping his arms around his neck for a bit of support, Wintergreen had a stupid reflex just as he was about to finish himself off, his swollen member still tightly sheathed inside him.

He kissed him on the forehead.

And immediately regretted it when he saw the surprise on the young man’s face as he pulled out of him more quickly than usual.

“Fuck, old man, what the hell was even that??” he muttered, sitting up on the bed.

Of course, just his luck, that had been enough to trigger the worst of the young man’s instincts.

“I swear, you do that again and I’ll break your teeth, you piece of Brit shit… What, you trying to mess with my head or somethin'? Is Slade the one telling you to do this all along? Are you both screwing with me, uh?”

Hearing Wade spiral out like that, his voice rising dangerously as he pulled on his boxers and jeans in sharp, jerky movements, Wintergreen anxiously assessed just how badly he had messed up.

Very badly.

And since Wade’s anger wasn’t the kind that burned out after a few seconds of yelling into the void, and he was now moving dangerously close to him, Wintergreen had no choice but to pin him against the wall, holding his wrists firmly against his chest.

“Calm down, Wade, calm down… It’s been a long day for both of us, okay? I’m just glad you’re not sick, that’s all. Nothing to do with your brother or anything. There, look at me.”

Wade eventually calmed down, though the threats still lingered in the background.

“Damn it, I don’t care about your soft little excuses. Never do that again. Never. You hear me? Don’t mess with my head man, I hate that, I hate you…”

Wintergreen sighed, rubbing his back as he looked back toward the window. The snowfall wasn’t letting up. He would be staying the night here.

Wade eventually calmed down on his own during the night. He stopped turning his back on Wintergreen in bed and throwing jabs at him just to provoke a reaction. Instead, he went quiet in a way that didn’t suit him at all. Wintergreen didn’t care. It was still better than his usual nonsense.

Before leaving for the airport the next morning, he found the young man sitting on the counter in his tiny kitchen, finishing a phone call. The exchange between Wade and the person on the other end was particularly cold—both of them responding mostly with grunts and monosyllables. It didn’t surprise the Brit much.

He had prepared himself to tell Wade that their little arrangement would have to end there. That it was too much for him. And then the young man, still holding the phone, climbed down from his perch, knelt in front of him, and—

“I’m sorry I lost it last night… You forgive me, right? You know I like you, don’t you? You got to know that, right?”

Wintergreen had been ready to stick to his decision, to put a definitive end to all the mess that never should have started. And then—

Wade slid his tongue along him his cock exactly the way he’d taught him, before taking him fully into his mouth.

And Wintergreen, more foolish than ever, forgot everything all at once.

The Brit still felt guilty about his weakness when he showed up at Slade and Addie’s the next day.

Adeline had gone to her parents’ with the baby. And Slade… Slade was smoking on the porch, visibly on edge. He barely composed himself when he saw his friend, giving him a vague wave instead of a warmer greeting.

“Are you alright, Slade? You don’t look so well.” Wintergreen said as he approached.

Slade crushed his cigarette under his heel.

“It's nothing... It's just... My brother called me yesterday. Says he wants to come see Grant on next Sunday, supposedly.”

He rolled his eyes, looking more affected than he probably wanted to show.

Wintergreen went cold at the words. Wade had promised he wouldn’t say anything… But now? God knew what had gone through his head after that kiss on the forehead had sent him spiraling.

Damn it, why had he—

His thoughts were cut off by the weight of Slade’s hand on his upper back.

“I’m counting on you to come too, old friend. Addie already said she refuses to see him, so don’t leave me alone with him, please.”

For the sake of his sanity—and his relationship with his best friend—he needs to recreate it, get the association out of his system, and move on.

Unfortunately, for that, he only knows one person…

Warnings : 18+, selfish sex, riding, Wintergreen acts like an asshole and just takes what he wants.

Stupid accident. Slade had tried to get up to grab his jacket from the opposite seat… bad luck—he lost his balance and ended up plopping right down on Wintergreen’s thighs. Ouch. The other guys at the table burst into loud, rare laughter; Slade muttered some excuse before grabbing his jacket—clearly a bit annoyed by the over-the-top teasing—as one of the guys handed it to him.

And Wintergreen… Wintergreen had immediately pressed his still-burning cup of tea to his lips, trying to come up with a more acceptable excuse for the sudden flush in his cheeks.

Outside the restaurant, Wintergreen comforted himself as best he could.

If Slade had felt anything while slipping across his crotch, he had the decency not to mention it.

A few days passed, and the trace—no, the memory—of Slade’s weight on his lap, the way the curve of his backside had accidentally brushed against his erection… all of it proved stubborn. Like a parasite that made Wintergreen feel even more dishonest than usual. It seemed to him that the way he looked at Slade, the desire he felt for him… everything had only grown worse.

He hated himself for objectifying the younger man so much, more than ever—so much that he found himself summoning the memory of that accidental friction just to reach orgasm.

And then, finally… an idea to vent his turmoil came to him, in the form of a small scrap of tablecloth he found crumpled in a pocket, bearing a number the Englishman had deleted from his phone months earlier.

Wade’s voice was slightly muffled; there was a low rumble all around him—shouting, or music, maybe both.

“Well, I’ll be damned… Didn’t reckon you’d call me back this quick. Hell, didn’t reckon you’d call at all. So what’s got you hurtin’ bad enough to come cryin’ for comfort, huh? Lemme guess… Slade already gone and knocked her up?”

Wintergreen didn’t flinch at the young man’s provocation. He’d heard sharper jabs during their late-night phone calls. Wade never lacked humor when it came to emasculating, ridiculing, teasing, or unsettling people…

“Adeline is pregnant, yes. Four months. But I took the news remarkably well—I’m actually quite happy for them.”

A brief silence opened on the other end of the line, giving Wintergreen a moment to better take in the steady background noise still pouring through.

“Shit… so I’m gonna be some kinda uncle now, huh? Well I’ll be fucked, that’s news to me. World sure as hell didn’t need another Wilson runnin’ around, but hey… somebody’s gotta feed the dirt with manure, like our big bastard of a daddy used to say.”

There wasn’t any particular anger in Wade’s voice. Just the usual poison—maybe a hint of jealousy at other people’s happiness and… perhaps a touch of pain.

Wintergreen didn’t have time for that. Not beyond whatever relief Wade might offer him, knowingly or not.

“Charming. As always. Where are you right now?”

“Gotham city. Why? Miss my sweet ass that much you’d actually travel all this way just to get a piece of it?”

“Why do you always have to make everything about sex? Have a little dignity. I just want to see you, that’s all…”

The lie had barely left Wintergreen’s mouth before it already left a bitter taste on his tongue.

It wasn’t the first time he’d lied. And a little prick like Wade hardly deserved much more consideration than that, but… the silence on the other end of the line made him hesitate for a moment. Then Wade burst out laughing.

“Your balls must be reeeal blue if you’re insisting on traveling all the way to Gotham just to fuck some guy… But pulling out rom-com lines on top of that? That’s kinda cute, in your own way I guess.”

Wintergreen cut off the younger man’s mocking tirade:

“Wade, I don’t have the patience for this. I asked where you were and whether you were free so we could meet. No? Fine. But don’t paint me as some kind of pervert, or you’re going to make me regret being stupid enough to worry about you.”

Wade blew sharply into the phone, so hard Wintergreen could easily picture the young man deliberately pressing his lips against the microphone. He could almost feel the warm air against his ear. The sensation was strange. Somehow a bit arousing too.

Then, finally, with feigned resignation, Wade gave in:

“Relax, old man. You got a pen and paper?”

Wintergreen had rarely felt as stupid as he did while boarding a plane at four in the morning bound for Gotham, all just to chase a grotesque fantasy about his best friend’s half-brother out of his head… It all sounded so terrible.

The address Wade had given him led the taxi deep into one of Gotham’s rougher neighborhoods. The streets were littered with trash; some people wandered aimlessly, shaking from withdrawal or with bloodshot eyes.

It was late, after all. There weren’t many families out.

The driver stopped in front of a tall gray building that rose about ten stories high. The balconies lining the façade seemed almost alive beneath the warm breeze that made the hanging clothes sway back and forth.

Wade had been waiting for him outside his door on the seventh floor. He wore a T-shirt and shorts, his hands wrapped in bandages and his left cheekbone decorated with a nasty bruise still dark purple in color. Wade had grinned like an idiot when the Englishman, out of simple politeness, asked where it had come from.

“That? Occupational hazard.”

Then he ushered him into the tiny apartment without another explanation.

Contrary to what Wintergreen had feared, it wasn’t especially filthy. A few takeout boxes from various places, a couch patched up one too many times…

But the state of the floor made it obvious Wade had swept recently. Which was, at the very least, surprising.

Wintergreen was about to ask whether Wade lived alone when noises from a nearby room told him otherwise.

“My roommate, Jim. He says he’s an escort, but I think he’s just a good old-fashioned whore,” Wade explained in an especially unpleasant tone as he lounged across the dubious-looking couch.

Before Wintergreen could reply, said Jim strode into the room in a few long steps, headed for the fridge, and grabbed himself a beer. He looked around Wade’s age, maybe a little younger… and utterly exhausted, muttering a distracted “hey” to the stranger his roommate had brought home.

Wade straightened slightly on the couch, resting an arm along the armrest, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jim, buddy, perfect timing—I was just sitting here thinkin’ you oughta quit half-assing it. Hell, even I’m hookin’ more than you these days.” He gestured toward Wintergreen with one hand.

Jim shot his roommate a dark look before turning tired amber eyes toward Wintergreen.

“I dunno what he told you, man, but don’t let him fool you. He’d strip you naked, beat the shit outta you, and rob you blind if he felt like it.”

Then he disappeared back into his room, beer can in hand.

Wintergreen sighed before turning toward Wade.

“What exactly do you have against him?”

Wade shrugged before sinking back into the couch.

“Dunno… the guy just gets on my damn nerves. Comes home at all hours of the night, sometimes he’s cryin’ at like three in the mornin’. I can’t stand whiny types like that. And if one of his johns ever stabs him or somethin’, that’s gonna screw me over on the rent and all that shit.”

Wintergreen shook his head. Wade’s disgust toward any display of vulnerability reminded him a little too much of another young man.

A slightly older one. Blonder.

“Careful, Wade. Swallow any more compassion and you might choke on it,” he said dryly as he sat down on the edge of the couch, carefully avoiding a few suspicious streaks of grime.

Wade looked up at him, the pale blue of his eyes suddenly much darker beneath the apartment’s poor lighting.

“Whatever man. So—did you bring any condoms or what?”

“Real classy, Wade. No, I didn’t bring any. Why are you in such a hurry that you can’t manage five minutes of actual conversation? Not that anything you’ve said so far has been particularly brilliant.”

Wade narrowed his eyes, smiling just enough for the wariness radiating off him to show through.

“You know, Wintergreen… you might wanna be careful playin’ this little game. ‘Cause it’s startin’ to make me wanna play too. It’d be real fuckin’ funny to me if I had you sittin’ on a plane for six hours for nothin’ and then sent your ass right back home all frustrated… You’re lucky I actually feel like getting laid.”

And with that, before Wintergreen had the reflex to pull away or answer back, Wade grabbed him by the hips, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket… and with his left hand pulled out one of the condom packets hidden inside.

The Englishman cursed inwardly, blushing a little at having his dishonesty exposed so ridiculously easily—and even more at the complete lack of surprise on the younger man’s face.

“So that’s what the ‘actual conversation’ was about? Well, good news, I already know how those go. C’mon."

Jumping up from the couch in one smooth motion, he led the older man to his bedroom. Messy, like the rest of the apartment, but not disgusting.

No pictures of anyone, no decorations. Just clothes scattered everywhere, though the bed itself had, strangely enough, been made.

Wade started undressing, tossing the condom he’d already taken out of its wrapper onto one of the few uncluttered spots on his nightstand. He spread his legs, far less tense than the last time. Proof enough: that cheap smug grin still hadn’t left his face.

Wintergreen figured he must enjoy this. Watching him invent excuses to come all the way here, watching him sink deeper into it… all those complications for nothing, since Wade wanted him too anyway.

He was a bastard. But Wintergreen couldn’t quite suppress a flicker of admiration for his brutal honesty.

“Still ain’t gettin’ undressed?”

Wade asked when he saw Wintergreen still standing there, fully clothed in his suit jacket, hands on his hips. For now, Wintergreen was only watching.

Wade had put on a bit of weight since last time—mostly muscle, more build. Not enough to become bulkier than him, but just enough to shrink the physical gap between him and Slade a little more. There was something even more familiar in the width of his shoulders, the still-lean but defined swell of his chest, the way his abs tightened in clean, regular lines.

And whatever he might claim with his impatient attitude, Wade loved the attention. His cock was already starting to harden between his thighs, and quite obviously, he shifted his stance slightly from time to time just to give the older man a better view.

Still without making any move to undress, Wintergreen sat down next to Wade and tapped his thighs, signalling for him to climb on.

Wade rolled his eyes before complying, climbing onto him. Wintergreen soon closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the sensation—so familiar to the one that had obsessed him for months.

“Come on, move a bit. Rub against me,” he ordered the younger man after a while.

Wade didn’t take long to comply. He ground himself against Wintergreen, lifting slightly with each movement, a bit hindered by the fabric of his trousers stretched tight over the British man’s erection.

“It’d be a whole lot easier if you just took ‘em off, y’know… I swear, if you just end up finishin’ in your damn pants while I’m rubbin’ up on you, I might actually end up provin’ Jim right.”

Wintergreen groaned before placing a hand over the younger man’s mouth.

Objectively, Wade’s body fit the role of Slade’s perfectly. But when he talked this much… sometimes that sharp mouth of his was almost intoxicating. Not now though. Right now, Wintergreen just needed him to shut up and do what he wanted.

In response, Wade arched slightly, his ass pressing more firmly against the other man. Wintergreen let out a satisfied groan before slowly removing the hand he had been holding over the young man’s mouth.

“There. That’s better. Good boy…”

He tightened his large hands around Wade’s waist, guiding his movements as the younger man kept doing his best to grind against him as fully as possible. Eventually, he kissed Wade’s neck hard enough to leave marks.

“You still want more, hm? Nod if yes.”

He couldn’t see Wade’s face, his expression… but the rapid, almost frantic movement of the young man’s neck as he nodded was enough to suggest an open mouth and a forehead already damp with strands of hair sticking in small, sweat-slick clumps from arousal.

He had been right.

Wintergreen finally removed his trousers and boxer briefs and placed the condom into Wade’s palm.

“Put it on. Quickly.”

The way the young man’s hand slid the condom onto himself in a single attempt, the small habit of pinching the reservoir at the tip… made it obvious to Wintergreen that if Slade’s half-brother had once lied about his sexual experience, he had more than made up for it in the meantime.

Wintergreen grabbed his arm to position him over his lap. He wasn’t worried about losing his erection while preparing Wade and risking making the condom unusable. He knew very well that with what he was seeing right now, that was extremely unlikely.

Fortunately this time, Wade wasn’t impossibly tight, and Wintergreen was able to ease two fingers inside him without too much difficulty, lubricated only with the saliva he had gathered earlier by pushing them into the mouth of the young man currently sitting on his lap.

Wade handled it well, too. He no longer groaned in pain or twisted from discomfort trying to find a better position. The newfound looseness in his body told its own story… and Wintergreen had too little interest in him to take the time to listen to it. He slipped in another finger the moment he was able to, barely waiting until Wade was open enough for it.

Wintergreen had never been a selfish lover, but now…

There was no exploration. No attempt to coax any particular sound from the young man’s throat.

As soon as he judged him ready, Wintergreen gripped his waist again, this time guiding him down onto him, Wade’s back still pressed against his chest.

Wade protested a little physically, perhaps not entirely comfortable moving on to that stage yet…

But while the younger man had gained some build, he remained supple and pliant beneath Wintergreen’s strong hands.

The Englishman held back something like a sigh of relief as he finally felt himself pushing into the still-tight opening.

He closed his eyes, resting his jaw in the crook of the younger man’s neck while, arms wrapped around his waist, he helped him move.

The sensation of truly being able to go back in time—to fuck Slade on that damned restaurant booth—was almost perfect.

Almost, because every now and then Wade would let out a moan or some remark, and Wintergreen would correct him, covering his mouth again or giving him a firm slap against the thigh.

“Go on. Good boy. Move on your own now.”

After a few minutes, he let his hands fall to either side of the bed.

Wade, nearly silent despite his ragged breathing, began moving by himself, lifting and lowering himself along the older man’s cock, the wet friction producing an almost obscene sound.

“That’s it… keep going like that… good boy… move your hips a little more.”

Wade was completely lost in the sex. Maybe he had taken something before meeting him, too. Once again, Wintergreen didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to him was that Wade kept moving like this above him.

Fucking himself down onto his cock. Back pressed against him while he thought about someone else.

Soon, Wintergreen felt himself getting close enough to climax that he gripped Wade’s shoulders more firmly.

“That’s good… don’t move now…There, just like that, stay all the way down, take it all, darling… that’s it…”

Wade had gone looser now, his body relaxing slightly around the Englishman’s length. Warm, but less tight.

Wintergreen didn’t mind. It felt good to stay just stimulated enough while riding out his orgasm, still kissing the young man’s neck, brushing aside the bleached strands of hair to leave darker marks against sun-browned skin.

There was a kind of silent gratitude in those kisses. He would never tell Wade what he had truly helped him with… but he could reward him for it.

Still inside the younger man though softer now, he reached a hand around to finally grasp the cock he had so cruelly ignored until now…

He couldn’t resist the temptation to mock him when it took Wade only a few rough strokes to spill into his fist.

“My God, how do you act so tough when you come in a few seconds, hm? You’re so desperate for a little attention you fall apart over almost nothing, darling…”

Wade let out a low grunt in response… but he was still far too weak and dazed to really protest.

Wintergreen guided him onto his side, still kissing the back of his neck, this time no longer just as a reward but simply because he simply wanted to do it.

Wade remained strangely calm, his broad chest rising in uneven motions, trembling faintly with lingering pleasure.

Eventually, he found his voice again, rough and breathless:

“Well now… if you ever run your mouth like that to anybody, I swear I’ll mess you up... But damn it all, truth is, ain’t nobody fucks me like you do. I feel your cock more than I’ve ever felt anybody else’s.”

Wintergreen couldn’t suppress a small laugh, pausing his kisses.

“I know.I know exactly what you want.”

Wade muttered an insult before pulling away to sit up on the bed.

“Fuck you…”

Wintergreen asked if he was alright. Wade shot him a dark look before getting up with a sharp movement of his hips and heading out to smoke on the tiny balcony. He came back without offering any explanation for his sudden mood swing.

Without perhaps fully realizing it, Wintergreen was beginning to think, that’s just Wade. He’s like that. He was getting used to this boy who let him fuck him and then stormed off without warning, without transition.

He glanced at the used condom he had tossed into the small bedroom trash bin just as Wade climbed back into bed beside him, pointedly turning his back to him.

“Now either you sleep right here, or you go do the dumbest thing of your whole life and wander ‘round Gotham at night. Your call, old man.”

Wade shrugged. Wintergreen’s hand drifted over the young man’s shoulders, where the bleached blond strands were beginning to give way to his natural brown again.

Despite how tense he was, curled in on himself, Wade still allowed the touch.

“You know your bleach job’s growing out?” Wintergreen asked thoughtfully.

Wade gave a broad shrug before switching off the bedside lamp.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll probably redo it in September. Maintenance.”

Wintergreen yawned.

“Suit yourself… but I think it suits you better when you’re brunette. It feels more… like you.”

A deep silence followed.

Wade pulled away from Wintergreen’s touch.

The next morning, waking with the weight of the younger man’s head resting on his chest, everything suddenly hit the Englishman at once.

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: William Randolph Wintergreen/Wade LaFarge Characters: William Randolph Wintergreen, Wade LaFarge, Slade Wilson Additional Tags: Smut, Phone Sex, Anal Sex, Hate Sex, I hate this ship but I love it too Summary:

Straight out of the "Winterwade" Tumblr fic I've been writing over the past few months :

Wintergreen meets Wade at Slade and Adeline's wedding. It's mutual hate at first sight, with a sexual bonus round.

Wintergreen wants Wade because he looks like Slade and he can't have the real thing, and Wade wants Wintergreen because... Who the hell knows what goes on inside that lunatics head?

All Wintergreen knows about Slade’s half-brother is that he has a particular talent for stirring up trouble and messing with people’s heads… He still doesn’t yet know just how far that goes.

Wade downed his glass of wine in one go, smiling with wolfish teeth. He was a handsome man in that same space where Slade was handsome too… And yet, side by side, the two half-brothers had little to nothing in common. Wintergreen had noticed it immediately—recognizing a brother required familiarity with the other.

And if Wade called himself a Lafarge, he carried himself like a Wilson. Even more so than Slade, perhaps; it was enough to see how all his worst traits—arrogance, excess—seeped out of him in every word he spoke. Out of place. Proud.

“Who do I have to fuck here to get more wine, for fuck’s sake?”

Wintergreen, looking highly affronted, folded his napkin and placed it neatly back on his lap. He carefully avoided meeting Wade’s gaze, which filled him with great disgust. He refused to believe that someone so detestable could have the same eyes as the man he had been sighing over for years.

“I cannot stand vulgarity,” he let slip, even though giving this man any attention felt unbearable.

Wade set his wine glass down with a soft clink, then leaned further toward Wintergreen, his smile like a bite on his canine face.

“Oh, alright then. Who should I make tender love to in order to get more wine, please?”

Wintergreen did his best to suppress the smile threatening to tug at his lips. Wade was the very last person in the room he wanted to talk to… after Slade and Addie. But for two entirely different reasons.

“You’re the best man, right?” Wade asked, his voice heavy with Southern drawl and wine.

He had shown up at the end of the ceremony. Wintergreen remembered how Slade had tensed at the altar when he saw his half-brother wandering between the church pews, before Frannie grabbed his arm and forced him to sit down. He had rarely seen his friend so pale, so worried, so…

Wade cut off his thoughts by casually taking Wintergreen’s glass, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and pouring it into his own to refill it. Wintergreen was still disarmed by such a blatant lack of manners.

“Far be it from me to disrespect your mother, but don’t you happen to have a bit of pig’s blood somewhere?”

Wade downed the new drink in one go, then wiped the corners of his mouth. He didn’t look the least bit offended; he only watched Wintergreen from the depths of his too-blue eyes. He looked serene like that, almost gentle, like someone gazing out at the sea.

Wintergreen did not yet know that this calm expression was the one Wade wore when he knew he had found a pressure point.

“So that’s what you like about my brother? Pig’s blood? Or is it the whole handsome, unattainable straight guy thing?”

He said it very calmly, carefully enunciating each syllable despite the heaviness of his alcohol-soaked tongue and the lingering drawl of his accent.

Wintergreen felt his face grow warm despite himself. He forced himself to stay composed as he replied, though the heat likely hardened his features:

“Let me guess… You feel so small and insignificant next to your brother that you imagine everyone is madly in love with him and hates you?”

Wade placed his elbows on the table, making Wintergreen physically recoil in discomfort, and rested his chin in his hands as he studied him even more closely.

He had clearly been affected by the words… but what showed in his expression was mostly a sick kind of excitement. Wintergreen thought the young man was probably congratulating himself on having found a way to sow chaos at his brother’s wedding… and it would have been very foolish—reckless—to let him.

“Small and insignificant…? Psychologically or... physically?” Wade asked, smiling a little wider. It was Slade’s smile—the one after successful training, a sporting achievement, a military medal… and it was hard for Wintergreen to swallow. Hard to face.

And the crude insinuations from the young man made him feel indescribably nauseous.

“Both seem accurate.”

“Think again. I do need to beat my wonderful, wonderful older brother on some kind of field.”

“What kind of man compares his... That to his half-brother's like that… it’s beyond me. Your inferiority complex must be monstrous to sink that low.”

Wade laughed warmly at Wintergreen’s disgusted grimace, who got up and went outside for some air.

It was hard not to replay Wade’s biting remarks. Slade had been right all these years to describe him as a little shit constantly looking for trouble. What an asshole…

And anyway, Wintergreen had little desire to stay for the ball, for Slade and Addie’s first dance… Damn, he was probably worse than Wade in that room. Not being able to swallow his jealousy while his two best friends were celebrating their love… what was wrong with him?

He lit a cigarette and looked out at the sea crashing against the rocks. He stayed there for an unusually long time—thirty minutes, then nearly an hour. No one seemed to notice his absence…

Until he felt someone join him. Slade? No, of course not. Wade.

The young man was watching him with a wide grin, clearly enjoying seeing him in such a foul mood.

“Well… I hope I’m not the one who put you in this state, sweetheart? Or is it because the newlyweds are about to open the dance floor and you ran out here so no one would see you cry?”

“Still getting off on your little scenarios?” Wintergreen snapped. “Want another one? A brother with no job, a criminal record as long as my arm, living off the state and spending his time cursing his brother for having a decent life.”

He flicked ash into the ashtray.

For a precious moment, Wade seemed calm. To Wintergreen’s great surprise—already bracing for a fight that felt inevitable—the hostility left the young man’s face as he came to lean against the balcony railing beside him. It took Wade a long time to speak again, and Wintergreen was surprised not to hear his usual venom:

“You know… you’ll never have him. He’s always been obsessed with normality. Even as a child, you could see it in his eyes: a respectable wife, a nice little family, a good career… I’m not saying my brother doesn’t like men. I’m not saying that at all.

But if he started sleeping with you—the family’s best friend, the uncle of his future kids, a man… it would all fall apart. So he won’t do it. I’m saying this for your own good y’know.”

Wintergreen had been ready for provocation, for insults—but this… it left him infuriatingly disarmed. What could he even say, except repeat that the man was wrong over and over again? He already had, and if Wade was a little shit… he wasn’t stupid.

Then, before Wintergreen could react, still stunned by the surreal words, Wade slipped a small piece of tablecloth into his hand, roughly torn, with a phone number scribbled on it.

“Anytime you want, hun. I don’t mind being your consolation prize once in a while.”

With a wink, Wade disappeared back into the hall, probably off to find someone else to provoke—maybe even the groom. Wintergreen stood there on the balcony for a few more minutes, his hand hovering over the railing, ready to let the scrap of cloth drift away in the wind… and then—

He folded it and put it in his pocket. Because it wouldn’t have been environmentally friendly to throw that into nature.

That was all, of course.

Wintergreen and Adeline truly believed he might recover—he’d shown signs of awareness, of improvement. On the last day, he weakly insisted on holding both their hands. Closing his eyes, he murmured that he wished he could have seen Grant grow up.

He never got that chance.

Wintergreen and Adeline are inconsolable, their grief quiet and suffocating. Everyone calls it a tragic accident. Who could have predicted this outcome? Just a truth serum.

They’re too shattered to hear the other whispers circulating through the halls of the military hospital.

Until one day, they do.

The doctors are surprised Slade lasted as long as he did. Until now, every other test subject died instantly.

Wintergreen and Adeline launch a crusade against the army’s intelligence services. In the moment, it’s the only thing that still makes sense.

Getting together feels like an insult to Slade’s memory—betraying the ghost that haunts and binds them. And yet, there are slip-ups. Often. Too often.

When they wake pressed against each other’s damp, bare skin in the chill of a bunker, neither of them can say whether this attraction existed before Slade’s death—no, his murder—or if they’re just trying to replace him in each other.

Wintergreen will never have to confess that he slept with Slade while he was still alive. Adeline notices immediately, the first time they sleep together, in a secured hotel room.

Joey is never born. Grant grows up on the road, flagged as a future criminal—a terrorist before he’s even old enough to tie his shoes. It never bothers him. He wants to avenge the man he barely remembers. He thinks it’s love. Filial duty.

In truth, it’s because it’s all his mother and his uncle have ever talked about, for as long as he can remember.

Wintergreen and Adeline can’t dissuade him.

Meanwhile, Wintergreen dies believing Slade is still coming for him.

His death becomes the guilt that shadows Slade for the rest of his long life.

He helps Adeline build her agency. He still becomes Deathstroke—but differently. No mask, no costume. Just a man who’s learned how to disappear into any crowd, how to become no one while watching everything.

At first, Adeline refuses to send him on dangerous missions.

But those are the only times he doesn’t look so empty. So eventually… she gives in.

Slade starts taking the worst assignments, quietly hoping one of them will finally be the end of him. He assumes Addie doesn’t notice.

"Do you have children?"

Every piece of information could be used against him -but the truth is, this one was never very well hidden. Which explained the source of so much of his misfortune. Little Joey, his throat slit…

Slade barely hears his own voice:

"Three."

No one really listens, too busy with their own answers, their own opinions.

Wintergreen finds his hand under the table. He squeezes it gently, a quiet signal of the mistake. In a few seconds, Slade will realize what he just said. He’ll correct himself -or he won’t- but the number two will linger somewhere in the back of his mind.

If Wintergreen takes his hand, it’s to soften the fall.

Slade realizes quickly enough. He barely speaks for the rest of the evening -he wouldn’t have said much anyway.

On the way to the underground parking, they’re alone. They won’t hold hands -not here, not under watchful eyes looking for something to exploit, to tear apart, to weaken.

Still, Slade leans toward Wintergreen, draping an arm around his shoulders.

"You’re the one who was mistaken earlier. At the table."

His voice sounds a little clearer, firmer than usual.

Wintergreen turns his head, offering a faint smile. He says nothing, letting Slade finish.

"Three. I do have three children."

Wintergreen doesn’t ask him to explain. Coming from Slade, it’s already a declaration—whatever it means.

He thinks he understands. A little.

In the car, Slade finally feels safe. He rests his head in the hollow of his partner’s shoulder.

They drive home.