Series: Nobody Calling 3/3
Title: Never Alone
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Betas: Cosmicastaway/Greysnyper and Katarik
Fandom: Animated Teen Titans
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Slade/Robin

Summary: In the end, there is the call.
Warnings: Underage Molestation.
Disclaimers: The characters are totally not mine; don’t know who owns the animated versions. DC owned the original characters, I’m sure about that.
Notes: Follows Forever Bound and cosmicastaway's (Greysnyper's) Your Ex-Lover is Dead.

*---*---*---*---*

Robin fell from the skylight, cape fluttering about him to drape around and over his shoulders as he crouched on the floor. The place was another maze-like warehouse, but Robin knew where to go. He had *heard* the voice in his mind getting louder and louder the closer he had come to this place he shouldn't know.

Come to me...

No longer a whisper, but still a low, breathy tone. He stood, swaying and shuddering as he tried to push his cheek into the light pressure cupping it. But it did nothing, stayed light and teasing, and he whimpered in his throat as it slid over his jawline, trailing lines of pressure on his lips.

Please... more....

A tingle of amusement, almost like a laugh. Not yet, Robin. Come to me...

Where?

And he knew, just like he had known to come here. The layout of the warehouse unfolded like blueprints in his mind, and he was off in a swirl of black and yellow cape as he rushed through the labyrinth passages.

Moving through the maze of metal and wood crates either side of him was almost an *instinctual* task for his feet to perform. It didn’t take long for his directional sense to become muddled beyond comprehension, but he didn’t care as that was his *current* state of mind, hazy and fuzzy, and nothing but a *need* that he had to have satisfied--

And then he was *there*, right were his feet and mind had brought him, a clearing of the floor space in some random seeming part of the warehouse, but there wasn’t anything, any*one* there. Just a penned in area of nothingness, like the nothingness that stroked his hair, trailed on his stomach, and made the invisible symbols on his arms *burn*.

At any other time, he knows he would have been frightened by the pure surge of frustration and distress that crashes into him, that makes his knees buckle and forces him to the ground.

A soothing hand on his back. Look down, Robin.

He does and... lines in the dust, in a rectangular shape. A trapped door?

He doesn't think about it. Takes out a bird-a-rang and pries the metal obstruction out of the way, revealing a set of stairs down into the depths of the earth.

He was heading into hell, he knew.

He just didn't care.

*---*---*---*

Staring at his monitors, Slade smiled.

Finally. Robin was almost here, at his side once more. And just like he knew would happen, the boy had come of his own free will.

The intervention of the thief had been nothing more then a boon and inconvenience in one. Inconvenience in that he'd been planning to play with his bird himself, and the initial rush of his own jealousy against Red X was not an emotion he'd expected to have. Yet it had also been a boon, in that it had been a practical lesson for Robin; that no matter how the boy tried to ignore or sate the crave Slade was feeding into Robin's being, that what paltry resistance the boy made was an endless lesson in futility on his part.

Robin would perform when *he* told the boy to. Not before, and not later. Robin could not run from him.

But the boy could run to him.

*---*---*---*

The stairs had led to a straight hall way. He could *feel* how close he was, and he didn't hesitate to let his feet move at the pace they wanted--running between the walls, like a mouse in a maze.

It wasn't the run that stole his breath though, but the pressure on his lips, slipping into his mouth, stroking his tongue until he faltered in his stride to lean against a wall, whimpering as he brought one hand to cup his arousal--

And the pressure was gone like the gusty night breeze. Come to me.

He gasped at the sudden *lack* of that nothingness, and rubbed harder at his arousal, thinking that maybe, just maybe he didn't *need* to have that extra stimulus--

Pressure around his wrist, *squeezing* so hard he was amazed the small bones didn't break or fracture. No, Robin. Not now; soon though, I promise. Just come to me.

Whimpering, he pulled his hand away, and stared at his covered wrist--there was no indentation in the Kevlar, just the smoothness of the curve of his wrist.

Come to me, and I will give you everything you need.

Shuddering, he ignored the logical impossibility of his wrist, and staggered on down the hall, heading to where he knew the promises of the voice--he tries not to remember who it is, exactly, that he's actually heading towards--would be fulfilled.

*---*---*---*

Hmm. Perhaps the boy hadn't learned his lesson that well. No matter, Slade could correct that.

He'd have *plenty* of time to correct that little fault in his Robin, he thought with a grin, brushing trailing fingers over his forearm, delighting in the little halting gasp his cameras pick up and the surge of need he feels coming from the boy.

The boy is always so *sensitive* in areas Slade would never have guessed at on his own.

All the better for what he has planned for his little bird. And what lovely plans they were, for when he made the boy permanently be his and his alone, Robin would for once be *welcoming* all of it.

Licking his lips at the thought, he took note of Robin's proximity and turned, facing the door, mentally reviewing what he had to do as the door opened silently and his bird *finally* came into true view.

It was time to stake a claim to what was his.

*---*---*---*

"Robin."

What little denial he'd built up crumbles at that one word, at the reality of the person he's faced with. Slade's voice is no longer just in his head, but in his ears as well, all around him and there's no hope of getting away from that pleased, hungry voice.

He doesn't want to reply. Doesn't want to say Slade's name. Saying it will only lay the last nails in the coffin, will seal his fate to this--

He swallowed, feeling the symbols burn harder, and pressure over his crotch. Who was he kidding? His fate in this matter had been sealed since that day only so recently passed when the magical fire had initially burned Slade's symbol into his arms.

"Slade."

Said in absolute humiliation, absolute submission. He is Slade's property, to be used and discarded as the man wished.

It hurts to think that, to think of himself in those terms. Especially as he watches Slade take off that mask, to feel the first truly real kiss this man, his enemy, gives him.

"My little bird. My lovely Robin." Kisses along his jawline, and it's so much *more* then the phantom touches from before. He's hard and moaning, leaning in to every touch and caress.

Doesn't protest, when Slade's nimble fingers take off his cape, the fabric falling and crumpling like the outstretched wings of a dead bird. When those same fingers disarm and unlatches the belt, creating the combination of a muffled thump and the ring of metal striking stone.

Let's Slade strip his tunic and shirt off, let's those fingers play across the skin exposed. Moans louder, as Slade kneels, and licks where his fingers had been. Gasps, as Slade takes particular attention to one of his nipples, the man running his fingers up and down his sensitive sides.

All the while, that logically impossible nothingness is rubbing teasingly at his clothed arousal as he rocks his hips.

There's no use to fighting. No use to deny anything, or else he'll kill himself in the buried lies and denials. The only recourse is to give in, or be destroyed.

"Please, please, *Slade*," a sobbing, *needy* utterance. And to think, all of this had started with that single word. One word, but it had changed *everything* he'd ever known, about himself and the world around him.

A hum that made his body shudder in reaction, his throat close on a keen. Touch me, Robin.

He tries not to think at how much of himself isn't exactly protesting against the command, as he runs his hands through that silver hair, his own fingers tracing the features of Slade's face, that face he will never, ever forget.

Tries not to think how easy the repeat of his plead is. And then he can't think at *all* as Slade *purrs*, and the first *real* touch of warm fingers on him down there causes him to scream and come.

Slade holds him through it, smiling and murmuring about how pretty he looks like this, how Slade will never let him go, even if his friends do come and take him back.

Something in his mind and chest just *shifts*.

Suddenly, the idea of being Slade's property isn't so hurtful anymore.

*---*---*---*

As the final lines of the spell settled into Robin's body and snapped into purest clarity to Slade's gifted other sight, a ring like the purest note of a bell rolled through his own being.

He could feel the sated feelings coming from Robin, but the ever present feelings of fear, despair, anger, and fury that were always part of Robin's emotions were gone. Vanished with not even the merest hint of suppression.

His eye half-lidded, he smiled as he gathered Robin into his lap.

*Perfect*.

*---*---*---*

Slade's prediction from that first day comes true a week later, when Robin's friends finally charge through the outer perimeter, causing the warning lights to go off.

Robin hadn't wanted to leave. Had clung to Slade like a child at it's mother's knees in the face of a stranger, as his team had charged in, backed by the members of Titans East.

The sight had made many of them confused, Starfire most of all. Yet Raven, always the one most controlled, had used her magic to rip him away. He had screamed and lashed out at them,at the people that were supposed to be his friends, as Titans East dealt with Slade.

He had hit Starfire, made her cry, and hadn't cared in the least bit that he had hurt her. All he'd wanted was for them to go away, to leave him alone with his Master.

In the end, Raven had used her powers to make him sleep, and the next thing he knew he was here, in the medical bay of the Tower, strapped down once more to the clinical bed.

The first time they come to visit him, his first question was whether or not Slade was okay.

They had gone silent and avoided his question. Talked instead about Stockholm Syndrome, therapy sessions, and how Raven had attempted yet failed to remove the magical ties buried into his being.

He had barely listened to them, feeling his anger growing with each breath they took, each word they spoke. He hadn't *wanted* to be taken away, and he has no intention of speaking to a therapist.

Yet anger wouldn't help here, so he buried it deep into his core, to a place not even Raven would find it. Took on the role of the confused prisoner they expected, and made plans to seek out Slade the moment he could give them the slip.

They ate it up, like the simpletons they were. Left him be, with wishes to have a pleasant sleep.

When he lulls himself into that state of mind where the thoughts are clouded, he hears the voice, a gentle purr. Sweet dreams, my little bird.

He smiles, and follows Slade's command.

--Fin.

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