The Internet Is For

Bruce isn’t sure what brought it on- this haze of lust Dick seems to be emanating. He heard him enter the cave, but didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until Dick’s hand was on the back of his neck that he realized something was wrong.

He braced like Dick was going to hurt him when he felt the pressure on his neck- what he got was… well he’s not sure there’s a word for the feeling of your son-brother-friend-partner-everything presses his lips against yours for the first time.

He’s ashamed to admit he pressed back for as long as he did before realizing that something was probably wrong for this to be happening. But as soon as he does pull away, a breathless “Dick” spilling out in the scant space between them.

And Dick, pressing in to close the distance, presses a “Please, just- please, Bruce-” right back up against his lips. And what is Bruce supposed to say to that? Except a mumbled, “okay- okay, son” and surging back into their kiss.

It’s a blur to the medical cot across the cave, but by the time they’re there they’re mostly bare.

Somehow it still shocks him to feel Dick’s hardness prod back at him, shocks him even more when Dick’s hand wraps around the both of them, pulling twin moans, panted into the space between their chests as they both stare down at the sight of themselves intertwined.

Bruce is enraptured, seeing the familiar slopes of Dick’s hand as it works his length, but he’s happy to oblige when Dick breathes out a low “Bruce- touch me-” keeping one hand cupping the nape of Dick’s neck and the other reaching down to help Dick jerk them off. He doesn’t think he can take much of this, so he closes his eyes in an attempt to stretch out the moment.

“Bruce- B-” Dick gasps, “Dad-”

The newest Robin makes the prettiest noises- Tim stares up at his piercing blue eyes and wonders how he let the little bird get this much sway over him. How he let the kid follow him home after a patrol Dick wasn’t even supposed to be on. How he let him watch as Tim stripped down and showered. How he let him push Tim down onto the bed and crawl into his lap.

He shouldn’t be letting his little brother molest him, shouldn’t encourage the little rubs of Dick’s hips down against him, as he teases him, rubbing his length all through Tim’s slick. Really shouldn’t be encouraging it by opening up his legs and giving the little bird more room.

“Does big brother spread his legs like this for everyone or am I special?”

Tim flinches, instinctively trying to close his legs again, but unable to due to Dick’s presence, and reaches out to thread his fingers through his little brother’s hair in apology. “Only for you, Robin.”

A dazed look enters Dick’s eyes at the name- a happy nod of his head and a mumbled through kisses, “Yeah, you’re mine- you killed for me- you’re mine, big brother,” all the while slowly sinking into Tim’s heat, Tim whining at the stretch.

“Yeah- killed for you- would die for you, Dickie- do anything for you- ah- anything-”

It’s all Tim can do to lay there and take it, one hand braced on Dick’s shoulder and the other against the headboard, as Dick takes his pleasure in the closeness, in the feeling of being connected to Tim.

“Tell me you love me.”

Tim gasps at a particularly harsh thrust, arching up into Dick, “You don’t- don’t have to order that- it’s true, baby bird, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

Dick watched Tim go down to the fumes first, some pollen bomb Ivy lobbed at them that burst and filled the room with spores, clouding the air. His little brother collapsed to his knees, coughing up lungfuls of the stuff before crumbling the rest of the way to the floor.

Dick’s not far behind him, barely stumbling a few more feet before being taken down too, finally succumbing to the darkness as his eyes flutter shut.

When he comes to again, he’s been stripped of his uniform and so has Tim, still unconscious and sprawled nearby, now just with the remnants of his uniform scattered around him.

He groans as he struggles to get enough control of his body to start crawling towards Tim. Ivy is currently cooing over him, something about being surprised to see Tim’s pussy- and Dick sees red when Ivy’s vines start to crawl over Tim’s body, wrapping around his limbs to lift him into the air, legs spread to keep his pussy on display, vines growing threateningly close to the area.

“No! Don’t touch him- He’s just a kid- leave him alone!”

Ivy clicks her tongue in annoyance, glaring down at Dick, looking even more impressive from Dick’s position on the ground. He’s aware he has nothing to bargain with but his anger. “I swear to god, Ivy, if you touch him-”

“Alright, we’ll compromise.”

And then Dick is also being grabbed by the vines, the thick bindings folding his limbs away and behind him, tightening in place to keep him from thrashing as Tim is lowered right onto his length- it takes a moment for Ivy to get another vine in place to make sure it guides in smoothly, and then Dick looses track of all the vines for a bit, because he’s fucking his little brother, oh god, he’s inside of Tim.

Despite the situation, Tim nearly comes on the spot, his eyes rolling back as he moans at the feel of Dick filling him up. He tries to cover it up as a moan of pain but the way Dick whines at the noise makes him wish he hadn’t.

Dick can’t stay ignorant to the rest of the vines any longer though, as one starts to prod at his ass, some sort of fluid leaking from the stem and it shoves inside of him. At the same time, Tim tightens around him, a long harsh clench as Tim writhes on top of him. He can only imagine that Tim is probably also being penetrated again. “Stop- stop- Ivy, you said- don’t touch him-”

Their captor laughs at Dick’s pleading, “I never said anything but a compromise. You should be thanking me you get to partake instead of me knotting the cute little bird. But I figured I’d play nice, after all, he always was my favorite.” She pets at Tim’s hair as he shakes on top of Dick, panting out “’wing, nh- ‘wing-”

When Dick opens his mouth to further disparage Ivy, another vine pressed between this teeth, “I’d hate to waste the knotting vine though, here- it should keep that pesky tongue of yours occupied.” Just before the tip of the vine starts to set off Dick’s gag reflex, a thick bulb slips in and starts to inflate, locking his jaw open, unable to pull away from the intrusion. He’s thankful for the vines holding him in place, keeping him from bucking into Tim at the feeling.

Something sweet starts to coat his tongue, leaking out of the skin of the vine in his mouth, and he realizes its probably the same self-lubricating kind of sap that kept the vines now firmly up his ass from tearing him open.

He feels a little heady- lightheaded and bubbly. Notes it as a probably side effect of the sap, thinks it’s probably what’s keeping Tim so docile, having more of an effect on his slighter frame.

It was an innocent offer when Dick told Tim they could share the bed instead of making Tim take the couch. Innocent right up until Dick watched Tim crawl into bed wearing one of Dick’s oversized t-shirts and nothing else.

He did try to keep it innocent even after finding out Tim sleeps commando, he did! Told Tim good night and laid down with a good six inches between them, even going further to curl up on his side, facing away from Tim.

It took him an extra hour to finally actually fall asleep, but when he finally slipped under he had good dreams. Good enough to wake up hard, turned the wrong way, with Tim now fully in his arms, thighs smeared with a wetness now coating Dick’s cock where it’s pressed between them.

Dick freezes.

The tip of his cock is speared right up against Tim’s slit, any amount of pressure forward and it’s sure to slip in. He isn’t sure he can justify it, no matter how much this part was an accident, if he presses forward that’s a decision. A choice to rape his little brother in his sleep.

He’d love to say it’s easy to pull away, easy to pull down Tim’s sleep shirt and then go get up and sleep on the couch to spare his brother’s modesty. He’d love to say that. But he can’t. Because he’s telling himself he’ll just put the tip in, just to feel, just for a second, and then he’ll stop.

Except he pushes the tip in and it feels like heaven, the wet heat tightening on him like he doesn’t want Dick to pull out either.

So he pushes in a little more. And a little more. And then it’s nowhere near “just the tip” because he’s pressing the tip of his cock up against Tim’s cervix, chest heaving against Tim’s back as he tries to hold himself in check.

It’s not long before he can’t help it- he pulls out and thrusts back in, only a little bit at a time, trying not to wake Tim, but forgetting himself as he gets lost in the feeling of his little brother’s pussy clenching around him while he moans in his sleep.

Even less time passes before he’s talking to Tim as if he’s awake, unconscious form loose and pliant in Dick’s hands. “So good for me, little brother.” “Pussy so tight- wraps around me like you were made for me-” “Always so good for me, Timmy.”

Tim’s whole body tenses when he wakes up, and Dick mentally notes to train that out of Tim in case of capture, and then that makes Dick think of tying Tim up for escape training, and then Dick is moaning at the thought of taking advantage- of how Tim would look all vulnerable and doe-eyed as he looks up at his big brother asking for mercy-

But then the illusion is shattered when Tim untenses all at once and moans. Dick thinks maybe he’s in shock when Tim moans out his name next- shouldn’t Tim be mad at him? He should be kicking and screaming, calling Dick all sorts of mean, true things- but instead the words “Yes- god, Dick- ah- more-” echo in his ears as he grips harder at his little brother’s hips and twists over onto his knees to be able to fuck up into him ever harder.

“Fuck, Tim- Timmy, baby- ‘m sorry, sorry- I”

But Tim’s shaking his head, talking over him, “No- I love you- ‘m yours- fill me- use me-”

“Really?  I think you’d appreciate it a lot better without that mask,” Dick said breathlessly, dropping underneath Deathstroke’s guard and lashing out with an escrima, straight at the mask.  “And in better lighting, too.”  It connected with a crack and Deathstroke stumbled back with a grunt, hand raising to his broken mask.

Dick took the opportunity to spin towards the sniper setup—with one kick, he sent the whole apparatus crashing off the roof and to the ground several stories before.  He looked back up and gave the mercenary a bright smile.

“Oops,” Dick said.

Deathstroke regarded him for a long, stretching moment, ice blue eye narrowing as he tossed the mask aside, before exploding into movement.

Dick backpedaled, but there was only so long he could outlast a superpowered mercenary and Dick wasn’t surprised when he ended up pinned against the wall, his escrima sticks having followed the sniper rifle off the roof, staring up at that snarl.

“Someone should really teach you a lesson about how to treat other people’s stuff,” Deathstroke growled, fingers squeezing around Dick’s wrists.

Dick licked his lips, grinning when Deathstroke’s gaze dropped to the movement, and tried to stomp down on the mercenary’s instep.  “You want me to ask nicely?”

“I want you to beg, little bird,” Deathstroke said darkly, leaning down until their faces were scant inches apart.  “I want you to scream and cry and wail until you finally give in and promise to mind your own business.”

“Make me,” Dick retorted.

That was normally his cue for wriggling out of Deathstroke’s grip, throwing back a few more quips as Deathstroke’s faux flirting stalked deep into the territory of sexual harassment, and stall until the police got here from the tip he’d called in, but Dick was aching all over and not really in the mood to gain a few more bruises before Deathstroke cut his losses.

So instead he pushed up on his tiptoes to close the scant distance between them, and pressed his lips to the mercenary’s.

As a distraction technique, it worked.  He felt Deathstroke grow rigid in surprise before kissing back, grip loosening slightly on Dick’s wrists.  The mercenary deepened the kiss, pressing Dick back against the brick, so close that Dick could feel the seams of his armor.

It was a damn good kiss and Dick felt breathless and dizzy when Deathstroke disengaged, only to have to bite back a sharp moan when the mercenary sucked at the curve of his jaw, stubble scratching against his neck.  Slade chuckled, diving back in for a kiss, and Dick could feel parts of his body perk up in interest.

The distant sound of sirens faintly registered and Dick couldn’t help the smile curving against the kiss.  Deathstroke withdrew, giving Dick a suspicious look.  “What did you do?” he growled.

“Me?” Dick blinked his eyes innocently.  The effect was hidden by his domino, but Deathstroke still narrowed his eye.

The sirens got closer.

Deathstroke cursed and abruptly released Dick, stalking to the edge of the rooftop.  Dick followed him and peered over the edge.  A pair of police cars was already there, and there was an officer shining a flashlight over the pile of gear that lay in pieces on the ground.

Both of them ducked back before the officer could look up.

“Don’t worry,” Dick grinned, “I’ll make sure the BPD takes very good care of your toys.”

Deathstroke merely snarled at him.  Dick rocked on the balls of his feet, ready to jump back if the merc decided to lash out, but Deathstroke spun around and walked away, grabbing his broken mask and heading to the other edge of the rooftop.

“We should do this another time!” Dick called after him, still smiling, and stretched in satisfaction at a job well done.  He hadn’t even gotten punched.

It was a good night.

~#~

The next time he ran into Deathstroke, it was by complete accident.  Dick was sneaking into a warehouse when he caught sight of someone else moving in the rafters and it didn’t take more than a glance to identify what their target was.

Starting a fight up here would alert Deathstroke’s target, true, but it would also alert them that Nightwing was here, and Dick hoped for a little more discretion tonight.  So instead of barging forward, escrima out, Dick kept his weapons sheathed and slinked forward more quietly.

Of course, there was no such thing as quiet enough when it came to Deathstroke the Terminator, so Dick was still a few steps away when the man growled, “What do you want, Grayson?”

“Ideally, for you to stop taking contracts in Bludhaven,” Dick hummed, watching the merc tense up as Dick moved closer and finally sidled in front of Deathstroke, blocking his view of the meeting happening on the warehouse floor.  “But I’ll settle for a kiss.”

Even through the mask, Dick could feel Deathstroke’s unimpressed look.  “Get out of my way, kid,” he said tersely.

“Rude,” Dick pouted, letting Deathstroke back him up against a cross beam.  The mercenary loomed above him, a hulking figure in the semi-darkness, and Dick felt something skate across his nerves.

“Don’t test my patience,” the man growled.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Dick said, grabbing hold of a crisscrossing strap on Deathstroke’s armor to prevent the merc from turning back to his target.  Deathstroke snarled and yanked off Dick’s hand, but Dick had already jumped up, wrapping his legs around Slade’s waist before his grip was removed.  Dick smiled at the mercenary, face-to-mask, like he wasn’t currently holding them together with the strength of his thighs.

“What the fuck are you doing,” Deathstroke said flatly.  He didn’t move to tear Dick off, but Dick was under no impression that it wouldn’t be ridiculously easy for him to do.  Dick just moved forward with the half-ridiculous plan he’d formulated.

“We left things a little unfinished last time,” Dick said, dropping his voice as he slowly, gently placed his hands on the mercenary’s shoulders.  The mask was an obstacle, and he lifted his fingers to the knot, loosening it carefully, heart hammering in his throat as he did his best to keep his movements slow and unthreatening.

Deathstroke let him slip the mask off, standing stock still on the rafter beam.  Beneath them, the meeting was beginning to finish up.  Dick looked into the mercenary’s impassive expression and smiled, trying to ignore how everything was fluttery from trepidation.  “It’s not nice to leave a guy hanging.”

The mercenary made some kind of snort, but Dick didn’t let him get anything more out, cupping one gloved hand against that strong jaw and meeting his lips.  Deathstroke let him set the pace this time and Dick took his time in exploring, curling the fingers of his other hand in Deathstroke’s hair as he lost him in the kiss.

He didn’t even realize that Deathstroke was gripping his ass until the man gave a deliberate squeeze.

“Is this what you want, little bird?” the mercenary murmured as Dick broke the kiss with a muffled gasp.  “Do you get off on playing cat-and-mouse with villains?”  Nightwing’s armor was made of high-quality kevlar fabric, but it felt like tissue paper right now—he could feel the slow, deliberate movements as Slade kneaded his ass.  “Did you want the big, bad mercenary to hold you down and make you scream?”

Dick rolled his hips forward, re-wrapping his legs tight around Slade’s waist.  “I don’t know,” he said, voice breathless, “you tell me.”

He dove back into the kiss, feeling arousal spike higher with every press and squeeze, his suit becoming uncomfortably tight.  Dick was so consumed that he almost forgot what he was here for, but he remembered when he heard the quiet slide of a gun slipping out of its holster.

Dick broke the kiss but kept his forehead pressed to Deathstroke’s, reaching out to grab the gun before the mercenary finished aiming it.  He didn’t try to wrest the gun away, just curled a hand over the muzzle and waited.

“You truly are a pain in my ass,” the mercenary grumbled.

“In your ass?” Dick said pointedly, wiggling against the tight grip Deathstroke had on him.

The mercenary merely huffed, not engaging as he let go.  “Get off of me.  They’re gone, anyway.”  Dick darted a quick glance to check before he let go of the gun and unwrapped himself from Deathstroke.

~#~ ~#~

“I trust you,” Dick said with a smile.  It didn’t sound like a lie.  He was too exhausted and injured, and maybe it was true.  Maybe this was what trust felt like.

Slade’s face closed down, slipping straight into Deathstroke’s idle efficiency.  Shit.  That didn’t seem like a good sign.

“Okay,” Slade said, “Go to the bedroom.  Take off your suit.  Kneel next to the bed, hands on the blankets.  Now.”

Dick was already regretting this.  This wasn’t going to be gentle.  But there was no point in protesting.  Dick did what he was told, and knelt, bruised knees pressing painfully against the ground as he laid his arms out flat on the bed.  He buried his face in the blankets, and let out a ragged breath.

Slade’s footsteps were deliberate, and Dick heard him walk to the closet.  He didn’t look to see what he was doing, but he heard the harsh swish of something long and thin whistling through the air.

It’s worth it, some part of his mind attempted to soothe, it’s all worth it if it saves lives.

Slade had never been this rough before, but he was clearly trying to prove something.  Dick hoped that he didn’t break skin—that wouldn’t be fun to deal with, or to try to explain to nosy siblings.

Slade walked back to him, and Dick could feel the long, thin stick press against his back.  A cane.  Or a staff, maybe, it was too dense to be a walking stick.

“You’re sure about this?” Slade asked, voice emotionless.

Dick pressed his face further into the blanket, and nodded, a quick jerk of his head.

“Say no,” Slade said, “And I’ll stop.”  The cane pressed deeper against his back, before Slade drew it back.

Dick quickly calculated how hard Slade could hit, and bit down on the blankets.  The agonizing part would be enduring without begging Slade to stop.  Dick really hoped that this satisfied Slade, that he got whatever he was looking for, that this wasn’t going to be the tone for the rest of their encounters—Dick had enjoyed himself before, but this was only going to hurt—

He couldn’t stop the tears spilling out, and he tried to keep them silent.  As long as he didn’t say no.  That was all he had to do.  Just keep his mouth shut.

The floor creaked, and Dick fought not to flinch.  He waited for the whistling strike, the snap of wood against skin, the growing burn, the—

The hand on his shoulder, drawing him away from the bed, and Dick had to unclench his jaw before he pulled the blankets off the bed.  Slade was crouching next to him, staring at him with a blank face and a narrowed eye.

“You don’t want this,” Slade said levelly, and the words felt like a death sentence.

“No,” Dick breathed out, because he could recognize that glint in his eyes—Slade was pissed, and Dick had no idea who he’d take it out on.  “No, Slade, please, I want it, I—”

“Dick,” Slade said, cutting him off, “Stop.”

“Slade, I do—I trust you, I swear—” Dick could feel the tears streaming down his face, and he tried to wipe them away, but his hands were shaking, and Slade was angry, and—

And now he was sobbing into an expensive shirt, strong arms around him, careful to not put any pressure on his ribs, and Dick couldn’t stop crying.  “I’m sorry,” he hiccupped, feeling the despair clawing at his heart, because he’d failed, because Slade had set up a test and Dick couldn’t pass it, and he abandoned that line of conversation entirely.  “I’m sorry—don’t—don’t kill them, I’ll do anything, Slade, please—”

“I’m not going to kill them,” Slade said, something pained in his tone, “I told you, my job is over.”

“I—I’m sorry, I—just give me a minute, I’ll s—stop—”

A heavy sigh.  “Kid, you don’t have to stop crying,” Slade said quietly, and Dick instinctively tightened his grasp on Slade’s shirt as the man stood up, carrying Dick fluidly.

~#~

“I know what consent is,” Dick said irritably—he wasn’t an idiot, and Bruce had been thoroughly obsessive in designing powerpoints to cover the Talk.  “No means no.”

Slade observed him, his expression placid.  “Yes,” he said levelly, “But consent means saying yes.”

“I said yes, Slade!” Dick snarled, unsure of what picture Slade was trying to paint but knowing that he didn’t like it.  He knew that Slade would stop whenever he told him to.  That had never been an issue.

Slade continued to stare at him silently.  “If I held a gun to your head and told you to beg me to fuck you,” Slade said quietly, “Is that consent?”

Dick had absolutely no idea where he was going with this.  “Of course not.”

“What if I held the gun to your brother’s head, whichever one pops up in your mind first,” he said, and Dick couldn’t help the shiver at the mental image of Deathstroke training a gun on Robin.  “And told you the same thing?”

“It’s not consent.”

“How about a random civilian off the street?  A drug lord?  A cop?  A—”

“Forcing someone to say yes isn’t consent,” Dick said through gritted teeth.

“Okay,” Slade agreed, “And what if I didn’t force you?  What if I had a gun trained on a target and a thirty-second window to shoot, and you knew that dropping to your knees and blowing me would distract me?”

Dick went still.  Slade’s face was no longer expressionless.

“Having sex with ulterior motives doesn’t automatically mean it’s not consensual,” Dick said slowly.

“No, it doesn’t,” Slade agreed.  “But everyone draws the line somewhere, kid, and you’ve crossed mine.”

Dick felt that strike through his bones.  “Slade,” he said, unsure of what he was going to say but desperate to say something, “I don’t—”

“You were ready to let me beat you bloody,” Slade said flatly, “Not because you enjoyed it, not because you thought it might be fun to try—both answers I would’ve accepted, by the way—but because you thought I was going to murder someone if you didn’t.”

“You—you didn’t say that you would kill someone if I didn’t have sex with you.”