#atmo

It was dark now, the temperature had dropped but it was still pretty mild. When you were about done, you commented that the food wasn't as good as his, Slade raised his eyebrow in response.

“This isn't exactly a high bar, kid.”

“If you're not going to accept my compliment about your cooking, how about one for your driving?” You asked him, stuffing a couple more fries into your mouth.

“I'm listening.”

“You're. . .incredible. Insane but incredible. Your fans say that you must be a top tier competitive racer because you're so good.”

“Really.”

“Speaking of. . .have you ever been to the Isle of Mann?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“Do you want to? Strictly for training purposes only of course. No fun allowed.” You winked at him and handed over the remaining fries you couldn't finish off. He took them from you, something akin to amusement cracking through his expression.

Back on the bike, he returned to the autobahn and gunned it once again. He wanted you to reduce the air resistance and make the bike go even faster so you were trying to thin out the air in front. Focusing up ahead, you were anticipating where Slade would go and thinned out the air before he would drive through it to little success. It was too inaccurate, you might as well thin out the air across all four lanes, not that you could do that for very long.

You decided to create a buffer of air. A few yards away from the front of the bike you'd keep the air moving and dense at the outer part of the buffer, and in the inner part closer to the bike, you'd thin the air out. Closing your eyes, you waited until Slade could go flat out on a straight with minimal traffic ahead before forming the buffer. You adjusted the shape of it, initially creating a sharp angle before widening it out to form a blunt shape.

“That's more like it,” Slade murmured and you checked the speed which was now over 190mph. You figured this was how fast he'd normally go without your additional weight. He continued racing down the autobahn and you were enjoying every minute of it. With the amount of traffic gradually reducing, Slade was going full pelt and started taking slight bends at top speed. His skill was a marvel to watch, how he manoeuvred past the traffic, how he could seamlessly judge exactly where to go.

Maybe half an hour later he took an exit and drove for several miles until you were on small, unlit country roads. In the darkness, it was like the only thing that existed was the lit up road ahead and Slade. There were far more bends and he couldn't gun it like he did back on the autobahn, but he was trying to. The leans were much lower, and you continued matching his body movements. A good fifteen minutes into it, Slade directed you to stand on the seat and balance.

“Sure. . .” you replied hesitantly. Thankfully he slowed down and you stood up on the pegs when the road straightened out before standing on the seat. It didn't matter if you slipped, you created a buffer of air around your body to prevent yourself from hitting the ground.

With your arms spread out, you closed your eyes to concentrate on sensing out the upcoming bends, how you'd need to lean. You wobbled on the first bend, pushing the air against you to keep upright but you started to get the swing of it. After a couple of minutes of balancing, you felt a car coming and moved to sit back down but Slade told you to take to the air.

You raised a leg behind you, pushing the air against your boot and taking off from the bike, exactly like you did from the plane door. Flying up a couple hundred of feet, you watched the car drive past Slade and headed back down to intercept. However, rather than slowing down for you, he was speeding up and driving more aggressively than before.

“Are you trying to race me?” You asked with growing amusement, following behind Slade about forty yards above and twenty yards behind him.

“Trying? No, right now I'm winning.” His boastful answer made you scoff and you flew in closer, feeling out the road ahead to sense where he would be going. As you were getting nearer to him, another car came along so you went back up out of sight before chasing him down.

Your body was at a diagonal, flying closer towards him and mirroring his manoeuvres. Not wanting the air to disturb the bike, you shifted your legs upwards until you were fully inverted, the air propelling you along without affecting Slade. He glanced up, seeing how close you were getting and tried to outmanoeuvre you, randomly swerving out of the way. Though you weren't perfectly above him every moment, you were within in a few yards of tolerance. You reached down and knocked on the top of his helmet.

“Are you sure?” You queried gleefully. Another incoming car had you flying back up, and after lowering back down, Slade slowed the bike so you matched his speed. He suddenly stood up on the seat and reached up to knock on your own helmet in return.

“Lift me up,” he told you, raising both of his arms and his right foot. You held onto his arms, pushed a concentrated blast of air under his boot and pulled him upwards away from the bike. As you lowered your body until it was horizontal, Slade swung upwards, wrapping his legs around yours so his back was pressed against your front. The bike continued along the straight road by itself. “Now set me down.”

Reversing the manoeuvre, you were flying upside down again with your arms holding onto his as you were trying to lower him down. This time you were physically carrying more of his weight rather than using the air to hold him up. You managed to carefully set his feet onto the bike and he sat back down, immediately speeding up again.

You continued flying, turning in time with him, in the full rhythm of the movements. Sometimes you were slowly spinning in the air as you were above him purely for the joy of it. When you'd push out front, he'd try and chase you down and you'd dodge out of the way. A while later, he had you sitting back on the bike and he returned to the autobahn. He started driving much slower when you'd reached the outskirts of Berlin and in the city itself, he was going the speed limit.

There were residential buildings on either side of the street, with a line of trees on both sides and sometimes right in the middle of the street too. There was more traffic here than in Zürich, you took in the scenery, the people walking past, the lights of all the buildings. It looked like he was taking you right into the heart of the city.

He drove through a passageway that went right through the ground floor of a building and a gate was drawn halfway across it, though there was plenty of space for the bike to pass by. There was a car park at the back of the building and he headed down a ramp to the left leading to an underground car park. A closed gate was at the bottom and Slade entered a security code to be let through.

The car park was somewhat full, lined with lots of expensive-looking cars. He parked up in front of a lift and cut the engine. It was a relief to be off the bike because your ass was hurting, the passenger seat was not designed for comfort. After calling the lift, Slade rolled the bike closer and when it dinged open he moved it inside, lifting the bike up until it was resting on its back tire so it could fit. He pressed the button for the top floor before pressing several other floor buttons in some kind of sequence. Holding out his arm, he prevented the doors from closing and gave you a look. You quickly sensed upwards to the top of the building, not sensing anyone.

“Top floor's clear,” you confirmed and he lowered his arm. The door slid shut and Slade stood casually, balancing the bike with ease as the lift travelled upwards. You exited first and he lowered the bike, rolling it down a short corridor to a door. After propping up the bike on its stand, he inputted a code into a security panel that was on the wall and headed inside, the lights coming on automatically.

The flat was furnished like something out of a catalogue. It was impersonal, didn't have any of Slade's style so he obviously didn't really spend much time here. After both of you took off the helmets, he pointed out the bedroom and two bathrooms and the rest of the flat was open plan. There was a large sofa in the living room area and a minimalist kitchen attached onto it. The windows were all blacked out. He wheeled the bike inside before taking you back out along the corridor to another door which turned out to be access stairs to the roof. Following him up, there weren't any chairs or tables or anything like that to make it a liveable rooftop area.

He directed you to fly back to Switzerland and pick up your bag from the safehouse, then you'd head to a location in Stuttgart to pick up his gear and he'd provide further instructions on how to access it.

“I'm giving you two hours,” he mentioned as you were lowering down the clouds. “There might be something in it for you if you make it back in time.”

“Oh?” Was he going to cook you a late night snack or something?

“Dessert,” he muttered suggestively, his eye glancing over your body. You scoffed and gently slapped his side for teasing you. Putting on the motorcycle helmet, you pulled up the sleeve of the overall and checked the time on the wrist device.

“Alright, two hours. For your food,” you clarified, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear that was straying too close to his eye. Waving goodbye, you pushed the air under your boot and pushed the fog around your body as you launched up into the air.

- - -

You raised your arm, pointing out Slade's location.

He stopped moving and began climbing back down the shelving units to start again. You were standing with your eyes closed, listening to music through the earpieces, pointing out wherever he was.

The night before you'd made it back to Berlin in under two hours and you were rewarded with freshly baked cookies. He stopped you from eating cookie number four, citing that you were going to make yourself sick so you'd saved the rest for the morning after your check up which went fine. There was more improvement to be made on your mental health.

Instead of a typical day of tests, Slade had taken you to a storage warehouse for stealth training. He had driven you in an expensive-looking sedan that was in the underground car park rather than the bike. Along the way, he had tested your knowledge on various subjects, medical training, navigation, battlespace, profiles of heroes.

When you arrived at the warehouse, which definitely wasn't abandoned, he had you break in, snap the lock on one of the shutters and guided you on how to reset the security system before an alarm could be sent out. Slade confirmed that the surveillance cameras inside had been mysteriously malfunctioning for the past week. Inside there were rows upon rows of tall shelving units filled with boxes on pallets, it almost went right up to the ceiling which was forty yards high.

So far he'd tried to sneak up on you seventeen times, and on each attempt you could sense him moving. Sometimes he was slowly climbing up the shelving units, other times he'd been moving right up against the shelves to mask his shape. He'd been taking off some of his weapons too, making his profile smaller.

You were sensing out, gently moving the air to ascertain what was around you and feeling out for his body. The first few times you could feel him breathing too, but he must have pressurised his suit because you couldn't feel it anymore. There was something different about the shape of some boxes up ahead to the right. You raised your arm, pointing at it.

A few moments later, you felt him striding towards you and opened your eyes to see Slade stripped down to the bottom half of the skintight base layer and he'd taken his boots off. He was panting slightly, he must have been holding his breath, you hadn't felt him breathing at all.

“You win this round, kid. Now it's my turn.” After helping him put his armour back on, excluding the helmet, you were now trying to sneak up on him. Starting on the other end of the warehouse, you took off your own boots and thinned out the air around your body as you started to approach him. He wouldn't see you as he had his eye closed, but he could certainly hear you. When you were about thirty yards away, he uncrossed his arms and pointed at you, forcing you to start over. The next few times, you tried the approach from different directions, moving carefully, trying to thin out the air even more but he clocked you each time.

As you pushed the air under your foot to fly up to the top of the shelving units, you also pushed the air a few rows away, mimicking the motion in an attempt to confuse him. However, he soon spotted you again. You'd lost count on the number of attempts, your tactic to distract him constantly failed. Putting a sphere of vacuum around your body, you crouched down and slowly walked towards him, step by step, taking your time. He couldn't hear this way, he couldn't smell you either.

You were getting closer and closer, and he stood perfectly motionless, concentrating on gaging where you were. Pausing a yard or two from him, you gradually straightened up and tentatively reached out towards his arms, shifting the vacuum around your outstretched hand. You were less than a foot away when he suddenly snatched hold of your wrist.

“Does that count?” You asked hopefully.

“I'll let you have it.”

At Slade's request after lunch, you were attempting to put vacuum around your body while you were flying. You needed a lot of air to keep airborne so the vacuum needed to be large, bigger than what you'd created before. He then had you chasing him. On the first run, you couldn't help but be entranced by his speed, agility and skill, how he leapt and vaulted through gaps in the shelving units. You were up in the air, trying to keep sight of him rather than actively go after him, you hadn't seen Slade go full out like this. The space in the bunker was pretty big but nothing like here. He suddenly came to an abrupt halt, turning around and beckoning you to him with his finger.

“What are you doing?” He asked when you landed in front of him.

“Uhh. . .”

“Were you gawking at me?”

“Sorry.”

“Focus, kid,” he murmured softly and you did as he asked, concentrating on chasing him through the warehouse until he said otherwise. In the back of your mind you took in how he could masterfully climb to the top of the shelves that were over thirty yards tall and comfortably jump down to the floor like it was only a couple feet.

To finish off, he had you standing at one end of a row, him all the way at the other end, as he wanted you to amplify the sound of him talking so you could hear it. You'd practiced sound amplification with him a few times before, but not at this distance. Holding out your arm, you shook the air in front of him, trying to extend the vibration of the sound waves so it would reach you. It took several tries, but you eventually heard him speaking a series of numbers which you began to repeat and he confirmed that the training had now concluded. You were looking forward to taking a shower.

After you'd helped him take off the armour and pack it away in the car, he drove back to Berlin, continuing his round of questions from earlier. He cooked you dinner back at the safehouse and afterwards during personal time you decided to go to sleep early after a tiring day. The night before Slade had moved the sofa from the middle of the living space for you to sleep there. Lifting up into the air, you yawned and settled down to sleep. Slade was sitting at the dining table doing some work on his tablet, feeling his calm, slow breaths nearby quickly lulled you to sleep.

You felt something on your shoulder, gently rocking you awake.

“Kid. I've got a surprise for you.” You opened your bleary eyes, blinking at Slade who was standing next to you as you were levitating. He had a white cover over his empty eye socket instead of the black eye patch.

“Huh?” It felt like there was something on your neck, something on your face too.

“You wouldn't have gone to sleep if I mentioned it earlier,” he explained, grabbing your wrist before you could probe at your neck. “I've already put you in disguise, all you need is the wig.”

“Oh. . .thanks,” you replied as he moved to wrap his hand around your ankle and pull you through the air towards the sofa against the wall. He'd made up your face and covered up your neck all the while you hadn't even noticed a thing?

“Put these on.” He pointed at the clothes laid out on the sofa and confirmed you'd be leaving in five minutes. As you put the somewhat dressy clothes and wig on, you tried to wake yourself up a little before following Slade out of the safehouse. Checking the time on your phone, it was coming up to one in the morning. You eyed him as the lift travelled down, wondering what the surprise was going to be. He was wearing a charcoal suit, no tie, and had a pair of sunglasses on.

You didn't have any of your gear so you assumed you weren't flying anywhere. With the bike still in the safehouse, he wasn't taking you anywhere on that either. He turned to you, eyeing you right back. Narrowing your eyes, you tried to gleam something from his expression that might give you a hint. He merely tilted his head at you, impervious to your machinations.

“Is it a good surprise?”

“You'll like it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm.”

A surprise you'd like. You got into the passenger seat of his car, still pondering what it could be but you were coming up blank. He drove out of the car park and around the city for about ten minutes. People were out late, getting drunk, coming out of bars, queuing outside nightclubs. A few people were getting arrested too, it looked like some kind of scuffle had taken place. When he parked up somewhere behind a nondescript building, you were still none the wiser. He placed the small earpiece into your ear before leaving the car.

You could hear the low thump of bass, probably from a nightclub nearby. As you walked with Slade, the noise was getting louder. You paused mid-step and he came to a halt too.

“You're taking me to a nightclub?” You asked, a wide grin on your face.

“Mmmhmm.” Your mouth parted open and your eyes widened realising that you were finally going to dance with him. “No.” He resumed walking and you hurried after him.

“What? Why not?” He didn't answer and you followed him to the front of the building. “Aren't we going to sneak in?” You queried, catching sight of the queue of people and two bouncers positioned by the club's entrance.

“I called in a favour.” Taking you by the hand, Slade strode up to one of the bouncers, whispering something into his ear before lowering his sunglasses for a brief moment. The man paled, immediately recognising Slade and he rushed to guide you both inside, bypassing the cloakroom and the counter at the front where the entrance fee was presumably paid. The bouncer opened up a door and the music got even louder, he held it open for you and Slade to head through.

You thanked him, and he gave you a strange look like you'd suddenly grown a few extra limbs. What did Slade do to him to provoke that kind of reaction? Did he know Slade was Deathstroke? Following Slade down a staircase into the club itself, you pulled him off to the side when you reached the bottom.

“How exactly did you call in that favour of yours?” You questioned, thinning out the air so you didn't have to shout over the loud music.

“I can be persuasive,” he teased, giving your hand a firm squeeze.

“Slade,” you muttered with irritation.

“I spared his life last year. This is the least he could do.”

“Oh. . .okay.” You eventually nodded at him and he let go of your hand, taking hold of your shoulders and turning you around to face the dance floor.

“You have one hour,” he highlighted before he walked past you, either going to the bar or the bathroom. The club was in full swing, the music was exceptionally loud, the dance floor looked to be nearing capacity. There was a bar along the right wall, a stage at the front with a DJ, lines of tables on the left which were all packed. You drifted over to the edge of the dance floor as a new song started playing over the speakers, spotting Slade waiting at the bar.

There was barely any bass to the song as it began to build up and when it hit, you closed your eyes, feeling it reverberate around your chest. It felt so good, it felt like it made you whole. It was like all the pain you had suffered, all the agony you had felt in your heart, was being etched away with every thump of bass in your chest.

You couldn't help but dance in time with the infectious beat. The song built up its rhythm before slowing back down, when the bass hit again, you were dancing even more enthusiastically. With so many people around, dancing and having fun, it reiterated your freedom, how lucky you were, how grateful you were to be experiencing it.

Your eyes flicked over to Slade as he was leaning up against the end of the bar by a pillar, with the sunglasses on you couldn't tell if he was looking your way or not.

“You sure you don't want to dance?” You asked, thinning out the air around your head to make sure he heard you through his earpiece. He merely raised the glass he was holding. “You gonna order me one of those?” His finger tapped the glass twice. He must have wanted you to order one yourself, more socialisation, joys. Distracted by the song again, you continued dancing to a few more songs until one started playing that wasn't as good.

“Can I borrow some cash?” You asked after walking over to him and deadening the air again.

“What for?”

“A drink.”

“You're not drinking.”

“Why not?”

“You're training tomorrow and you're not going to do it hungover.”

“I wasn't planning on getting drunk.”

“I know.”

“Are you planning on getting drunk?”

“I can't.”

“I. . .didn't realise.” He hastily shrugged and downed the rest of his drink, acting like it didn't mean anything when you could sense that it did. “I guess it's not as bad as having a sensitive arousal period, right?” You joked, wanting to take his mind off it.

“I wasn't joking about that.” He replied seriously, you couldn't see any twitch around his mouth or gage any sign that he was teasing you again.

“But that's. . .not a bad thing, is it? Being sensitive? Or can it be too much. . .?”

“I cry every single time I come, the pleasure's just. . .too intense.” You nodded in response and he leaned down towards you. “You know I still get tears coming out of here,” he said, tapping his cheek underneath his empty eye socket.

“I start blubbering, like a child,” he continued, his tone serious and regretful. “I have this really high-pitched whine when I orgasm. It really upsets people.”

“You can't help how your body reacts to things, Slade. It's okay, it's natural, you don't. . .” You trailed off as he began laughing almost raucously. You didn't understand, did he not believe you?

“You're too easy, kid,” he crowed, holding up his glass to the bartender who started coming over.

“What?”

“Cry every time I come? High-pitched whine? Really?” With a smirk he turned away, ordering something from the bartender. They poured out a couple fingers of something into his glass, scotch or whiskey probably, before they grabbed a bottle of water from one of the fridges behind them.

“I don't know how your body works,” you retorted when Slade held the water out for you to take, he was still obviously amused by his teasing, shielded by his protective facade. You had gleamed at a weakness about him being upset that he couldn't get drunk anymore and he had immediately shut it down. It was something that was out of his control. Parry then attack, always maintain the initiative, weakness will be preyed upon.

Your body belonging to Slade rather than to them made things easier. It was gifting away control, rather than it being stolen. Maybe it would be easier for him to think of things like you did. You laid your hand over his, giving no quarter.

“Would you prefer that your body belongs to you or to me?” You asked, he was no longer smirking. From what you could tell with his sunglasses on, his expression was blank. “You know I'll take good care of you.” He pulled his hand away, setting the bottle down on the bar, neither aggressively nor gently.

“You've got forty-three minutes,” he pointed out impassively, tapping on the watch around his wrist, knowing the exact time without even glancing to confirm it.

“Okay.” You weren't going to push him. Grabbing the bottle, you took a few gulps before setting it back down. “Thanks for this.” Rather than head to the dance floor, you started dancing right in front him to a new song with a slower beat than the previous one. You were rocking side to side in time with the music, not taking your eyes off him. The beat picked up as the chorus played so you were dancing slightly faster. Slade didn't move or turn away, he kept watching you. Resting a hand on your head, you rolled your hips in a rough circle, slowing down when you were closer to him.

He suddenly waved a loose fist, signing bathroom and brushed past you. Your movements faltered and you watched him manoeuvring through the crowd. Shit. You were really excelling at upsetting him lately, weren't you? Back on the dance floor, you were dancing half-heartedly until Slade returned to his position at the bar and then you were bouncing along with the beat of the music. There were a few songs which weren't that good, but you still enjoyed them with all the bass coming from the speakers. While you were dancing to the rhythm of another song with your eyes closed, you felt Slade coming over and you excitedly reached out towards him.

Did he actually change his mind? You didn't think he was going to dance but maybe he thought about what you said. You opened your eyes when he didn't take your hand, he was merely standing in front of you, tapping his watch signalling it was time to leave. He stood motionless amongst the moving crowd. Over forty minutes had passed already? A wave of disappointment hit understanding that he wasn't going to change his mind about what you said. At least not anytime soon.

With a nod, he took your hand and guided you through the throng of people, heading for the stairs. You couldn't help but move along with the music until he glanced back to give you a dirty look. Slade nodded his head to the bouncer as you left the club and he seemed slightly less terrified than before. Slade let go of your hand and you walked with him back to the car.

“More stealth training tomorrow?” You asked when he still hadn't said anything.

“No,” he replied simply, you nodded and held back a sigh. When you reached the car, he opened up the driver's door and paused before getting in. “You're a real piece of work, kid. You know that?” His tone was somewhere between a compliment and an insult.

“Yeah,” you agreed, pressing your lips together and nodding. A small smirk pulled at his lips and you smiled back at him.

- - -

“I want you to reduce this place to rubble,” Slade told you after you'd landed in front of him. He was leaning up against a truck and pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He wore another suit again, with the white eye cover on and a pair of sunglasses resting on the top of his head. This was probably going to be the last bit of training on the trip as you'd be flying back home later with Billy and Slade. The bike was loaded up on the bed of the truck, secured into place and covered up with tarpaulin. There were a few metal cases in the back too with Slade's gear.

It was about nine o'clock in the morning, you were in the countryside, somewhere outside Nuremberg, standing in front of three separate warehouses that looked to have been abandoned decades ago. After driving back to the safehouse last night, you'd woken up to your phone vibrating in your pocket. Slade had called, asking you to suit up and fly out to him right away. He must have left the safehouse hours ago while you were asleep. Taking off the helmet, you were wondering why it would be okay to destroy the warehouses, surely it would be noticed, even this far out?

“We'll be in a satellite dead zone for twenty-two minutes. I bought out a contractor who was going to demolish these warehouses today,” he explained, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag. “It's all legal. Do you want me to. . .whip out my paperwork?” He teased, taking the helmet out of your hands. You laughed in response, shaking your head as he unstrapped the pony bottle from your thigh.

“I believe you,” you replied, turning to look at the three warehouses again. “Do I need to take them out one at a time and keep them somewhat together?”

“No, they're close enough so it doesn't matter. It's at your discretion.”

“Okay.” After taking off the backpack, you shifted in more clouds and brought them down lower. Sensing out, there was no one around for a good mile or so and beyond that there was a small road with the occasional car. You created a circle of cloud about half a mile wide, bringing it right down to ground level so no one would be able to see what you were doing. He confirmed the start of satellite dead zone and you began with the middle warehouse.

You spun up the air inside of it, arms raised and your gloved hands facing each other, increasing the width and height of the vortex until the ceiling started to collapse. As the debris was pulled in, you saw the shape of the spin and continued to enlarge it. The side walls of the warehouse were obliterated by the force of the air, the vortex was now almost as large as the warehouse itself.

You kept going, making it spin faster, making the vortex wider and taller as it ripped out the front of the middle warehouse and began pulling in the side walls and roofs of the outer two warehouses. The sight of it was enthralling, the sound of the rushing air was music to your ears. This was you not holding back anymore, this was only the beginning.

The remaining walls of the outer warehouses were pulled into the vortex which was now a hundred yards wide and thirty yards tall. Most of the debris was a blur of grey and brown, but you could see the speed of the spinning air with some smaller pieces of intact brick and rebar. Clenching your hands into fists, you lowered them down to your hips and curled them inwards towards each other.

“EF4. Faster, kid,” Slade told you, raising his voice slightly over the noise. With your eyes closed, you strengthened the vortex, moving it faster and faster. The roar of the air was exquisite. You wanted to hear the sound of an actual tornado, how the winds would form one, feel the strength and speed of it, maybe create one of your own if they would allow you. “Keep going.”

You kept pushing yourself, spinning the air faster, even though you could feel yourself becoming tired from the exertion.

“EF5. Nice work,” he confirmed and you slowly reduced the speed of the vortex until you stopped spinning the air completely, letting some debris fall to the ground where the middle warehouse used to be. You split what was left of the other warehouses into two, setting the remains on top of their foundations and trying to make it look like a typical implosion.

“Three minutes to spare,” Slade commented when you'd finished and turned to him. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not realising you'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes. It didn't feel like that long at all. He held out your vape and you took it, leaning up against the truck next to him. There was some kind of device resting on the roof, presumably the anemometer. You vaped as he smoked, standing in companionable silence, looking on at the destruction you had created. The warehouses were gone, ripped down the foundations. A pan of hunger distracted you from the sight, and before you could ask, Slade was pulling out a metal lunch box from the truck and handing it over. You opened it up to see pancakes which made you smile.

“You made these earlier?” You asked, forgoing the knife and fork attached under the lid, you grabbed one and started eating it as is. You hummed in delight, it was still warm and there was maple syrup on it too. How didn't you wake up to the smell of him cooking these?

“Mmmhmm,” he confirmed as you ripped off some pancake and offered it to him. He declined with a shake of his head and continued smoking.

“I picked up something for you,” he told you after you'd finished breakfast. You pulled off your gloves as he handed you a plastic wallet. Opening up the passenger door, you sat down and spread some of the contents over your lap. Inside was a fake birth certificate which felt and looked aged like it was as old as you. There was a wad of paper clipped together detailing your new life, fake family, financial history, employment history. You were currently working as a freelance personal security consultant.

“You'll need to memorise all that,” Slade pointed out. You picked up a Canadian passport and looked inside to see the photo he had taken of you over a month ago now, you but not you. Your new name was Sam Ashwood, date of birth was a few months off your actual birthday. There were a couple of credit cards in the wallet too. This was Slade giving you the means to go out into the normal world. You looked up at him as he rested his arm on the top of the door.

“Thank you. This is. . .” you trailed off, unsure how to express the gratitude you felt.

“Keep looking.” At the bottom of the wallet was a pair of keys. You stared at his face, perplexed to say the least.

“There's an apartment in New York under your new name.”

“You're. . .giving me an apartment?”

“It's an old safehouse of mine in Brooklyn, I've got a better one in Manhattan so I don't use it anymore. You needed a real address.”

“Slade. . .”

“Put your legs in.” You twisted around and he closed the door up. Looking at the keys, they both looked identical so you pulled one off the loop and held it out for him when he got in the driver's seat. “I said it's yours, kid.”

“You might get bored of Manhattan,” you replied, he looked unimpressed. “It's this or a hug,” you stated bluntly and he rolled his eye. As he was taking the key, you held onto his hand and leaned down to kiss it but he pulled away and tucked the key into his pocket.

“You need to brush your teeth,” he remarked, turning the ignition and starting to drive down the unmade road away from the remains of the warehouses. With your seatbelt on and everything tucked into the plastic wallet, you grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste from your bag which was behind the seat. While you brushed your teeth, he grabbed the lunch box and a bottle of water as he was driving, setting them both in your lap and directing you to spit in the box. “Don't leave your DNA anywhere.”

“You know I've pissed overland, right?” You told him when you were all done.

“It's not the same.” Rather than retort back, you were wondering how to sneak a kiss onto his hand. Pretending to drop the water bottle into the footwell, you bent over feigning to pick it up before quickly leaning over and kissing his knuckles as his hand rested on the gear stick. “You were telegraphing that from a mile away and I couldn't even see it.”

“But you still let me kiss you, hmm?” You teased, leaning forward so he could see you wiggle your eyebrows. He said nothing in response and put his sunglasses back on. As he drove back onto paved roads, you took out the paperwork and began reading through it all. There was one section you had to go over multiple times.

“I'm not sure if I'm reading this right. I think it says I'm married?”

“You are.”

“To John P. Ashwood? Who's that?”

“Me. It's one of my aliases.”

“Is this for tax purposes or something?”

“Married couples get the same rights as immediate family, power of attorney, visitation rights and so on. John also happens to be a dual Swiss-Canadian citizen and to open a Swiss bank account you now need to be a citizen by birth or marriage. Swiss banks are notorious for protecting client privacy and they have the best security in the world, it's worth the effort.”

“Can we go on a honeymoon?”

“This was your honeymoon.” You huffed out a laugh and glanced at the scenery passing by, not really focusing on it. This wasn't just about a bank account, this was Slade protecting you. If something bad happened to you and your new identity held out, Slade would automatically have the right to visit you, make decisions on your behalf. It was a comfort.

When he gave you the key for the bunker, that had felt bittersweet and you had to come to terms with Slade not always being there. You'd accepted that a while ago now. Slade giving you the key to the New York safehouse wasn't him expressing that he didn't want you at the bunker, it was merely part of him giving what was needed for you to have this new identity, to keep hidden from them, to remain free. You mulled over the thought for a while before concentrating back on the paperwork.

It took about four hours for him to drive to the Switzerland safehouse and Slade cooked you and Billy a quick lunch. The two of them were going to head to the airport without you and as they were packing things away, you made up your face to put yourself in disguise.

“You've got two hours of personal time. We should be in the air by then,” Slade explained as Billy was getting in the truck and you stood with him in the driveway. You gave him a nod. “How long do you have?”

“Two hours,” you confirmed with a small smile on your face.

“And you're going to. . .?”

“I'm going to go into the city and get something for Billy.”

“You're in luck, he's easily bribed.” You took hold of his hand with both of yours, fingers running over his warm, soft skin.

“Thanks for today. This has been a great honeymoon, aside from me fucking up the start of it. I'm sorry about that again.”

“It's fine.” His eye glanced downwards briefly, he then raised an eyebrow at you. “Now Wintergreen's going to be convinced we're fucking. I won't hear the end of it the whole ride to the airport.”

“So I shouldn't kiss your hand then?” You asked with regret.

“No,” he replied quietly, and you squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. You would have offered to go with them in the truck to keep Billy from interrogating Slade but there were only two seats.

“He's not going to be upset with you, is he?”

“No, he'll be alright. I need to get going now.”

“Okay. I'll see you in a bit.” He pulled away and climbed into the truck without a further word. You waved them off, trying not to feel worried about Billy being upset with Slade. Billy had good intentions, he didn't want you being taken advantage of. How many years had it been since anyone had cared about that?

Taking your mind off of it, you pulled down the cloud cover, an easier feat by the mountains, and launched up into the air. You landed in the outskirts of Zürich and put the wig on before taking a tram into the centre of the city. Earlier Slade had gifted you a blue heavy duty rain poncho that went well past your knees. It had a high collar to cover your neck and it had dedicated room along the back to cover your bag. With its white camo, the backpack was too identifiable, and the poncho hid it away completely.

Wearing the poncho and also the boot covers, your gear was concealed from passersby. You realised then that you were by yourself, without Billy or Slade in the immediate vicinity. The thought of it didn't bother you at all, you were prepared now, you had everything you needed and you'd already practiced this before.

Traipsing along the streets, you browsed the shops, on the hunt for a present for Billy. You considered buying him some Swiss herbal tea but he seemed more of a classic tea drinker. Instead you got him a selection of Swiss biscuits including Spitzbuebe which looked similar to the jammie dodgers he'd had alongside the custard creams.

For Slade, you bought him some high end Swiss chocolate, knowing that he had a taste for the good stuff. That was probably to do with his enhanced senses, cheap chocolate would be too oily for him. You couldn't find the brand of the chocolate he'd bought for himself, you'd have to keep an eye out for that.

Wondering through a market, you searched through the souvenirs, the magnets, the cheap knockoffs, the postcards, and then a massive collection of keyrings. There was a whole range of fruit keyrings and a small orange one caught your eye, Deathstroke orange you mused with glee. After picking it out, you found a small apple keyring that you could use for the New York key. You purchased both before deciding to get another apple keyring for Slade in case he might like it. He didn't really seem like the type, but you wanted to give him the option.

Satisfied with the purchases, you found a secluded area by some trees in a public garden when Slade confirmed through the earpiece that they were in the queue on the runway. You packed the gifts into the backpack, clipped the keyrings onto their respective keys and took the poncho off too.

Lowering down the fog, you lifted up into the air and headed to the airport. You could feel the planes taking off and coming in to land for miles around and sensed how their engines produced the trailing vortices of wake turbulence. As you hovered in the clouds above the runway, you recognised the shape of their jet and felt that it was next in the queue to take off. You followed as it accelerated down the runway and took off into the air, ensuring that Billy and Slade had an undisturbed climb. When it reached the cloud cover, you flew in formation with the plane until it reached cruising altitude.

“Come about,” Slade directed and you flew from the right side of the plane over the top of the fuselage to the left so he could open up the door for you. After climbing inside and taking off the helmet, you took a seat on the case that was in the isle by the table as Slade ferried over some biscuits and Billy was making tea.

“Should I give Billy his present now or after tea?” You queried Slade, thinning out the air so Billy wouldn't hear. He leaned down slightly, sniffing towards your bag.

“I'd say now.” No doubt he could already smell what you had gotten for him.

“We've had a very pleasant flight so far, I don't suppose that was you?” Billy asked, setting down the empty saucers and cups.

“Uhh. . .yeah. I didn't distract you, did I?”

“Of course not, it was most welcome.” Slade carried over a tray one-handed which had the teapot, small jug of milk, pot of sugar and another cup that looked to be his coffee. After Billy was finished pouring out the tea, you pulled out his gift and handed it over.

“I have a little something for you.”

“Ooh lovely. We best get these opened up, eh?” He unwrapped the biscuits and laid them out on the table. “Thank you.” You smiled sheepishly and pulled out Slade's present.

“I guess you could already tell what this is.” Slade smirked as he took the chocolate.

“I give you a credit card for five minutes and you're already trying to burn a hole through it, hmm?” he remarked in jest. You were about to dig out his keyring but wondered whether Billy might not know about the New York safehouse or that your alias and Slade's were married. Slade sensed your hesitation and raised his eyebrow while Billy looked away but he didn't mention anything.

After tea, Billy returned to the cockpit, Slade's eye looked down to the bag, silently gesturing for you to reveal what you hadn't shown in front of Billy.

“I wasn't sure if you'd like this,” you mentioned as you gave him his apple keyring.

“Really, kid?” He sounded a little amused at least, though the gift was a bit on the nose. You showed him your keys, your matching apple and the orange keyring for the bunker.

“I bought this one too for me. Now I've got Deathstroke orange and then a New York big apple.”

“I got that. This is how you're spending my money?”

“They're great,” you countered as he slowly shook his head. You smiled back at him.

About ten minutes later you were in the air again, pitching upwards and increasing altitude to 135,000 feet. On previous high altitude runs, you'd managed to prevent yourself from creating sonic booms when you'd hit the sound barrier. Now you were going to do it again, and this time you'd fly supersonic overland for the first time.

During previous runs instead of letting gravity do all the work, you'd use the air to accelerate, wanting to push towards Mach 2. Reaching peak altitude at 135,000 feet, you allowed yourself to fall and shifted around to face downwards, legs together, arms pressed against your sides. The first few times you had done this, you let go of the air completely. Now you'd held onto it, using the air that propelled you upwards to accelerate you down towards the earth.

With the air disrupted in your wake, no sonic booms were produced and you kept pushing yourself to fly faster. By the end of the first run, you'd made it to 1241mph, then on the second 1263mph. Comfortable now with dissipating the sonic booms, you started to fall on run number three and formed a buffer of air a few yards from your head, keeping the far end dense and thinning out the air closest to you, exactly like you'd done on the bike with Slade.

The speed you were flying at made it difficult to maintain, you couldn't get the angle of the buffer right. It took another few tries and then on run six, you managed to hold it steady.

“Mach 2,” Slade confirmed in your ear and you were grinning, immensely satisfied to see your work paying off. When the plane had flown over France and was over the North Atlantic, you flew closer to it, wanting to do another high altitude run and this time you wanted to do a flyby going supersonic. You cleared out the skies ahead to give yourself optimal visibility.

On the first attempt you wanted to get a feel of trying to manoeuvre at those speeds and you were a good half a mile out from the plane when you flew past. Adjusting pitch and roll was slow but it wasn't as difficult as you had anticipated. Second attempt was closer at a quarter of a mile away, and you concentrated on feeling the plane flying through the air as you ripped past it. You were going well over double its speed, nearly triple. On the third and fourth attempt, you were feeling out to the plane and adjusting pitch at the same time, still keeping to several hundred yards out.

Attempt five and you were ready. Sensing out where to intercept the plane, you began to fall and to accelerate, dissipating the sonic booms in your wake. You could see it flying down below and aimed to pass in front of the cockpit. The acceleration was enthralling, the winds were by your sides, you felt so free, you felt so fucking alive.

“Tell Billy I'm gonna cut it close,” you told Slade, voice slightly strained from the exertion.

“How close?”

“Uhh. . .” With a smile you altered trajectory, wanting to intercept as close as possible.

“Kid, don't be reckless.”

“I don't think I can be reckless.”

“Don't be stupid then.”

“I won't. Well. . .maybe a little.”

“Kid. Pull up.” The plane was getting bigger and bigger, you felt it down below, cutting through the air.

“Don't adjust flight controls, I'm committed.” Three seconds later, you tore past the front of the cockpit, barely five yards from the nose. You sensed the plane shaking slightly in your wake but it only lasted a couple of seconds. Letting out a laugh, you flipped over backwards ninety degrees to increase drag and slow yourself down. That was. . .that was a lot of fun. Having the plane as the focal point made your acceleration evident, it was like driving past the cars on the autobahn with Slade. He called you back in, sounding annoyed but not angry.

After he closed up the door, you were confused seeing him in the skintight base layer that went under his armour. Billy asked after you while you were taking off your helmet and Slade headed to the back of the plane. In the cockpit, he had turned around in the pilot's seat and you sat down next to him so he didn't have to strain his neck.

“I'd hardly call that close. More like skin of your teeth,” he commented, sounding only a little exasperated.

“It was pretty cool though, right?”

“I wouldn't use that word. I would wager. . .it was bloody marvellous.” He nudged you gently with his elbow and you smiled shyly at his compliment.

“The kid doesn't need any encouragement,” Slade called out in irritation. Billy winked and gave you a thumbs up as you left to see Slade. He was putting on one of his gauntlets as he watched you approach seemingly unimpressed with your flyby. Why was he putting on his armour? Was he. . .

“You're gonna fly with me?” You asked, unable to help the smile pull at your lips.

“You obviously need supervision,” he chided partly in jest and you immediately knelt down and took off your gloves to put his boots on for him and strap the leg armour plates into place.

When he was almost ready, you offered to tie his hair up before he could put his helmet on and nodded without looking your way. He pulled out a brush and hairband, giving them to you as he sat down on one of the metal cases. Taking off his eyepatch and standing behind him, you gently brushed his thick, soft hair from the bottom first before working up to the top.

His hair was getting longer, like yours was, not that you had much to start with. Though your hair was still very short, it didn't look like it had been recently shaved off. It was the physical embodiment of your time being away from them, your time being free. Maybe your hair could be as long as his one day.

You ran your fingers over his head to pull his hair into a low ponytail and you tied it up more easily than the first time you did it. Moving around to face him head on, the hair wasn't pulled back properly so you started again, brushing his hair and tying it for the second time. Now it was tied correctly, you carefully put his eyepatch on, making sure the position was correct.

“Is this okay?” You queried, trying to understand the expression on his face. He seemed. . .there was a softness in his eye, an innocence almost, you weren't sure how to describe it. Before you could work it out, he put his helmet on and had you putting on the body harness. With the helmet on and backpack on your front, you were now standing by the door as Slade strapped himself onto the harness and connected up the rebreather to his helmet. You couldn't connect up your helmet as well so you'd have to wait until another time to break the sound barrier with him.

Billy opened it up on your signal and you climbed over the steps with Slade in tow, pushing air under the door so Billy wasn't holding up your combined weights by himself. Turning to face forwards and bending over, you directed him to lift up both of his legs and took his weight on your back. He was really heavy with all the armour on. You pushed the air against his boots and up against his shins to take enough weight off your back so you could step off the door. Taking to the air, Billy closed up the door and you let the buffer of air dissipate when it was locked.

Flying at 44,000 feet without the supplemental air wasn't particularly comfortable so you pulled away from the plane and quickly descended past your cruising altitude down to 20,000 feet which was his cruising altitude. He then wouldn't need to be connected up to the rebreather.

You told him to unstrap himself and when he'd finished, you took off the backpack and slowly turned around in his arms, securing the bag onto your back and disconnecting his helmet from the rebreather. With your arms wrapped around him and your helmet resting on his shoulder, you couldn't help but compare those first few times you'd flown with him to now. So much had changed. And yet, Slade was still right here with you. After letting out a deep sigh, you held onto him even tighter.

“You're supposed to be training,” he muttered gently.

“Okay,” you acquiesced and shifted up to rest your helmet against his. “Billy seemed good. He wasn't upset with you, was he?”

“No, he's fine.”

“And you?”

“We've only got an hour or so of daylight.”

“Are you okay, Slade?” You pressed, wanting to hear him answer. He blinked at you.

“Yeah, kid,” he replied before knocking on the top of your helmet. “Now are you gonna fly me or what?”

“Yeah. Yeah I am,” you responded confidently, knowing that Slade believed in you. Dropping speed, you turned around again until his front was against your back. You shifted across his body until your side was pressing against his and his arms were still around you. After wrapping your left leg around his right one, you took hold of his hand and he let go of your torso. You pushed the air against him, slowly letting go of his leg and moving away from him slightly until you were only connected by holding his hand.

The manoeuvre had costed only a little altitude, you were getting comfortable with mirroring how you'd fly yourself and how you were flying him. Through the weeks of training, you'd also gotten used to moving his body in the air, not like this but the familiarity was very helpful. You turned with him in the air, and sped up too, practicing the formation for a short while.

You didn't want to let go of him now, you wanted to see his positioning from the front. Turning inwards, you were laying across his front again and told him to grab hold of your arms. He took you by the inner elbows and you raised a leg outwards, then the other, slowly moving yourself away from him until his head was by yours and your bodies were facing opposite directions in a line.

You were holding onto each others arms, like you were in a skydiving formation. Concentrating on Slade's body, you shifted upwards until you were at a diagonal and he remained horizontal with the ground. Now that you'd removed most of the drag, you sensed the air pushing much more freely against him. When you were ready, you let go of one of his arms, and he drew it back, pressing it against his side.

“I've got you,” you told him and he blinked at you, letting go of your other arm. On the release, he shifted back only a couple of feet and you were now making him fly all by himself. It was like he was an extension of you, the winds were dancing past him, wanting to play with him too. You couldn't help but laugh.

“How does it feel?” You asked him, beaming with joy at him flying and dancing along side the winds.

“Go faster,” he directed and you obliged him. You pushed the air against his body and increased speed until you were both going over 400mph. He slightly lowered one shoulder to turn and you followed his manoeuvre. He turned the other way before pitching upwards and downwards, getting used to the feel of it.

“It's fucking great, isn't it?” You commented, spinning around in place a couple of times in celebration. He suddenly twisted his body around until he was at a diagonal too, perfectly mimicking your positioning, as if he'd been flying as long as you had. You shifted the air around him to account for the change of direction. “You're such a show off.”

He effortlessly spun around twice, exactly like you had, and nonchalantly shrugged.

“I'm adaptable,” he responded casually, making you laugh. You twisted around and faced him like you had before, bodies in opposite directions, his head and yours barely about a foot apart, your eyes focused on his. Beginning a languid spin, he matched you in kind and you were moving in tandem through the air, like you'd been doing it your whole lives.

It was you and him together.

────────

/ / / La Bohème was completely sold out. So of course, Terry had purchased the biggest box of the theatre, best seat in the house. The previous holder of the box had been outbid, much to their distress Margaret had assured him. Well, if you wanted something, you took it. Why was that so hard for people to understand? Just like he took you. Somehow you were both easier and harder to take than he thought it would be. Easier because your feelings for him were so potent even from early on. That made his toes curl just at the thought, how much you wanted him, how your devotion shone through you like a reflection of his own, more blinding than the sun itself. And it was harder because he needed to earn your trust. Trust had never been something he'd needed to foster when he was seducing someone. Usually all he'd need to do was give the right look, mutter an innuendo here or there, and his body would do the rest of the work. He never had to chase someone before. Whoever peeked Terry's interest, already wanted him. There was never any hesitation involved. He never realised how exciting the thrill of the hunt would be. Forever being thrown prey into his cage, fat and lazy from the endless offerings, until the day he spotted you beyond the threshold of his contained dominion. He couldn't just take your body, that was too easy. He needed your mind, your heart, your fucking soul cradled against him to keep for all eternity. When you both arrived at the theatre, Terry ensured you went through the staff only entrance. You simply looked too ravishing tonight, he couldn't allow the paparazzi to have up close shots of you. He guided you through the back area like he owned the place, which he of course did now, past the stage hands and technicians, past the dressing rooms of the performers. They cooed and greeted you like you were both the star lovers of the show, wishing that you enjoyed the evening.

"Break a leg." Terry announced to them. He smirked at you then, enjoying the amused but almost reprimanding expression on your face. His heart panged with desire, fuck he wanted you so badly. The waiting area was buzzing with guests and conversation, the excitement palpable in the air, but the noise noticeably quietened when the two of you came in. Many faces turned to you, Terry subconsciously tightened his grip around your white faux fur capelet-covered shoulder. Your capelet matched the white ribbon adorned on his ponytail, which you had tied yourself. Your blood red tailored dress matched his cravat and waistcoat underneath his jacket. He ensured that it was the exact shade of your blood from the cut he most definitely didn't purposefully cause by prodding your finger against a rose thorn in the east wing greenhouse almost a month ago. His mind was filled with the image of sucking your finger for almost half an hour, the heady metallic taste of you ripe in his memory. Heading to the box, he led you up the stairs, hand in hand. An announcement was made over the speakers that the performance would start shortly. Right on cue. You were shown into box by a personal butler who he immediately dismissed after you'd taken your seat. He wanted the two of you alone, undisturbed. After all, he wasn't here for the damn opera. The box was extremely luxurious, it had its own bar in the corner, its own bathroom. Rather than two separate seats, the two of you sat on an eighteenth century Chesterfield that he'd had specially procured for the evening. He asked whether you liked the box and you were gushing out compliments to him, eyes wide with excitement as you took in view of the theatre, the perfect central location with the best view of the stage and the orchestra in front of it. "Have I told you how beautiful you look, my dear?" Your cheeks reddened like he was summoning your blood to the surface like a satanic blood ritual, your skin almost splitting open upon a rose thorn. “Yes you have, Terry, thank you. And you look very handsome.” "Do I?" He feigned, his hand reaching up to rest on your neck. The lights of the theatre dimmed, his thumb rubbing along your throat. It was his explicit gesture to you that he was hard and desperately needed to be inside of you. A gasp escaped your mouth before you stuttered out a yes. His eyes flicked down to his lap, his silent command for you to place a hand on his cock, to feel how much he needed you, for you to dare question his desire for his beloved. Your motion was slow, delayed, you weren't entirely comfortable doing this here, but you obeyed, you always did. You were so good to him. You gasped again, feeling how hard he was over his slacks. You never could exactly grasp the depths of his want for you, the hardness of his cock physical proof that words couldn't quite place. La Bohème began its opening act with its star lovers rather too preoccupied, he mused before shifting his body like he was paying attention to the performance. You followed suit, though your soft, gentle hand kept up its teasing motions, fingers rubbing against his length.

His hips lazily kept raising slightly to meet your touch, the music and singing mere noise in the background. He slid an arm around your shoulder, his thumb rubbing up and down your throat, I want you, I need you, I want you, I need you, he conveyed to you over and over and over. Branding his desire onto your body. Were you wet yet? Were your thighs aching? Were you finding it impossible to take in a deep breath? Was your clit twitching? His other hand rested on your thigh, and your free hand shot out to his with surprising speed as you began urgently rubbing his inner wrist. Now this was your explicit gesture to him. I want you, I need you, I want you, I need you, you begged him, you screamed at him with your wordless gesture. He shot up from the Chesterfield, wrenching the privacy curtains closed as far as they would go. Climbing on top of you, his mouth devoured yours, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth to meet your own before he began to suck on your own tongue. He growled at the way you groaned in surprise at the sensation. He pulled away. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all, would it? He hurried you to your feet, ready to carry you out of the box and down the theatre stairs if you weren't fast enough. But you were up and being pulled by him out through the door like the box had been set on fire. “Mr. and Mrs. Silver?” The butler called out, concern heavy in his voice. Terry knew you'd want to satiate this complete stranger, purely out of the goodness of your heart. He sighed internally. "Pressing business!" Terry shouted back, pulling you around the corner. He looked back at you, inflamed by the smile on your face for him knowing just what you wanted. He immediately stopped at the top of the stairs, out of sight from any of the staff. His hand slid under your dress, cupped your cunt and squeezed, forcing a squeal out of your hot, wet mouth. "Pressing indeed." He murmured, capturing your lips for a brief moment before forcing himself to take you down the stairs. Otherwise he'd be fucking you right there and then. He told hold of your waist, taking some of your weight to keep you balanced, how could you not be weak at the knees for him? He came to a halt in the waiting area, head flicking side to side as he took in his options, body shaking in need, cock straining against his underwear, hand gripping onto yours like a lifeline, it was too far to the limo, the back area was busy with people, hmm. . .coat closet? Practically shoving a wad of cash at the attendants, he ordered for them to leave and slammed the door shut behind them. With no time to waste, he stripped off the fur capelet that was covering your bare shoulders and ripped the top part of your dress down, the sound of tearing material made his balls ache. As you stood frozen in shock, his mouth immediately attacked your nipples, he manoeuvred you against one of the coat racks, your back cushioned by real fur coats. He nipped and sucked and nibbled at you without breaking away, you were more out of breath than he was. Something had to be done about those real fur coats, he thought to himself, letting out a chuckle as he pulled back, giving you a second to take in oxygen. Taking to his knee, he wrenched up the dress to your hips, knocked apart your legs and shoved his mouth into your wet cunt like a man dying of thirst and god he felt like it. You squealed and desperately grabbed onto his shoulders for support. He played with your clit with his tongue, incensed by your constant stream of moans and cries. Working a finger inside of you, he began a relentless pace, rubbing your clit side to side, fucking you deep with one finger before working in another, and then a third. Your legs were shaking by then, your eyes kept rolling back, your hand mindlessly gripping onto his hair, undoing the meticulously neat ponytail you'd tied back earlier that evening. His white ribbon fell onto the floor.