Series: Masks
Title: Robin POV Part 2
Author: Katarik
Pairing: Slade/Robin
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Teen Titans! DC owns the original characters. I get no money from this project.
Summary: There will always be a contradiction.

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

The first night Robin dreams of Slade like… like *that*, he snarls at the mask and calls Slade every vile name he can think of in every language he knows. He doesn’t go back to sleep at all that night, waiting to doze until the next day. In the light, with the Titans all around him, where Slade can’t reach. But he doesn’t remove the mask from his wall.

The second night, he calls *himself* every vile name he knows. He hits the medical lab, checking his system for drugs or illness or *anything* to explain the recurring dream. All he finds is a mild lack of essential nutrients and of sleep.

The third and fourth nights, he pores obsessively over the pitifully small amount of information he'd managed to gather on Slade until the others knock on his door late that morning. There’s no evidence that Slade has any magical powers, and Raven would have noticed a spell anyway. What’s *causing* this?

The fifth night, he wakes hard and promptly refuses to do so much as move, clenching his fists and *willing* himself to change this reaction. Robin lies in his bed and scents his own arousal on the air and stares defiantly at Slade’s mask hanging on the wall.

The sixth night, when he’s hard again and furious with himself and with Slade, *always* with Slade, Robin goes over and runs his fingers over the metal. "I'll beat you, I *swear*," he says fiercely, leaning his head against the wall. The metal is cool against his cheek and eerily silent, a counterpoint to his harsh breathing.

Tilts his head a little, "I'll *beat* you, I will; what's your name? Who *are* you?" Turns his head a little more; the mask is pressing against his cheek, his mouth, with a steadily unrelenting pressure. Robin parts his lips to say something and what comes out is a very quiet sound with way too many ‘nnnn’s in it. He flicks out his tongue, mind screaming to know what the hell he thinks he's doing, and licks what he can reach.

The mask tastes like metal and cold night air, even though it’s been hanging in Robin’s room; Robin almost makes himself believe that it smells like Slade's skin, even though it had come from a 'bot.

Maybe the man had worn it at some point. Maybe he had. Robin shudders, tilting his head further until he can reach the slits with his tongue: maybe Slade's breath had gone through these holes, maybe the slight tang there is Slade.

He whimpers out, "I hate you, I'll *win*, you can't keep beating me forever," and in his mind Slade laughs and murmurs, //Yes, Robin. Yes, I can.// Robin hisses and flicks his tongue through one slit, running his fingers delicately up the sides. "... I *hate* you..."

//But you need me. And you want me.// Robin shakes and quivers, whining Slade’s name high in his throat; there are still bruises on his skin from the last fight he'd had with the criminal. It's almost enough to make this real.

Almost. But not quite. Robin forces himself back, staggering away from the mask and watching Slade's eye. He makes himself turn away and go back to his bed, licking his slightly-swollen lips to catch the taste of metal and maybe, just maybe, Slade.

He hopes he doesn’t dream again. But a little, insane, piece of him that Robin instantly strangles hopes that he does.

--Fin

Please state which story/chapter you are reviewing in the subject line. Feedback will be forwarded to appropriate author.