Title: Best Lack All Conviction
Author: Katarik
Fandom: Animated Teen Titans
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Slade/Robin

Summary: Slade's a bastard. Again. And Robin is obsessed.
Disclaimers: DC Comics owns the original characters.
Notes 1: Post "The End".
Notes 2: Title comes from the last two lines of the first stanza of W.B. Yeats� "The Second Coming": The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity.
Notes 3: For Yami's birthday, as she requested a Slade/Robin fic. Bunny donated some time ago by cosmicastaway in her journal. Thanks to her for giving me an idea when I was stuck, and to sladexrobin for co-writing the latter parts when my brain died from sheer possibility.

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

"Hello, Titans."

"*Slade*," Robin hisses. "I told you *not* to--"

Slade raises one hand, cutting off Robin�s beginning diatribe. "Peace, Robin. I�m not calling you to cause trouble in your city; quite the opposite. I merely assumed that you might want to know that I�m leaving."

"... You�re what?"

That�s... that�s not possible. The voices of the other Titans surge around him, but all Robin hears is Slade�s terrifyingly final answer.

"Leaving."

Robin�s eyes narrow. "Where are you right now?" He�s going to find out what the hell�s going on here; Slade doesn�t give up. He doesn�t just *leave*.

"Now why should I tell you my location?"

"If you�re leaving, it won�t matter." He�s calling Slade�s bluff. There�s no *way* he�ll say where he is just like *that*.

"... Excellent point, Robin. You remember my old headquarters, don�t you? That�s where I am right now."

Robin would be able to find that place if he were *blind*. He whirls and heads for the exit. Behind him, Slade starts to laugh. "Should I prepare for a visit, then? I won�t be here much longer, Robin; if you want to see me, move quickly."

Cyborg grabs his arm. Robin doesn�t look at him, but he stops moving. "Cyborg, I *have* to. There�s no way Slade�s actually leaving; I *have* to call his bluff! We need to know what he�s planning!"

"Man, if Slade�s getting out of town I say good riddance. Let him go. But if he�s *not*... you can�t go alone."

The others all make various noises of agreement, save Raven. Robin doesn�t care; all he can think about is Slade leaving. That... no. It makes no *sense*.

Slade *has* to be lying.

"I can. And I will." He has to; Slade�s never been the *Titan�s* enemy. Not really. He�s been *Robin�s*. Cyborg and the others have no place at Slade�s lair.

"Go, then."

Robin turns, surprised enough to look at the speaker. Raven�s purple eyes meet his calmly; she�s thrown back her hood, thus drawing and keeping everyone�s attention. "Go find out what Slade is planning, if you need to. But leave your communicator on, and come back to us."

He smiles at her; she�s been in his mind, knows him best. She knows why he has to go. "I promise. You know I�ll come back."

Turns and leaves. He has to find Slade.

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

When he gets there, it�s *quiet*, but there�s activity. He can see Slade-bots moving around, salvaging what�s useful and removing all traces of the criminal who reigned here. But he doesn�t see Slade.

"Hello, Robin. Alone again?"

Robin whirls, slipping into a defensive stance. Slade merely stands, hands behind his back and *radiating* amusement. "So. Why are you here, Robin? I would have thought you�d rejoice to see me gone."

"Because you�re just *lying* about leaving, I *know* it, you don�t give up that easily. You don�t *leave*." He hadn�t believed Slade was gone when the man had *died*, no way he�s believing it now. And he�s just not going to think about the icy weight at the pit of his stomach.

"Mm. No, I�m not lying. And you don�t know me *nearly* so well as you think you do."

Robin snarls and leaps at him. He always knows who Slade is in a fight.

Except that Slade isn�t fighting, just dodging. Dancing around every blow Robin throws at him, sending nothing back. Robin grimaces and takes it up a notch, managing to land a hit.

Slade oofs and backflips out of reach. But he doesn�t hit back. Something�s fundamentally *wrong* with that.

What the hell is going on? "Why would you *leave*?" Slade has *contacts* here, he�s set up networks and a reputation.

Robin�s here. Isn�t he what Slade had wanted?

Why would Slade just... leave?

"Because there's nothing for me here, and no reason for me to stay."

Robin stumbles. That... *that* he hadn't expected. Any reason but that one: it means he's not *good* enough anymore. "... What?"

Something tight and hard in his chest. He... really should feel happy about this. He really should. He�s got no energy left for a fight; it's all been drained away with one sentence.

"There is nothing for me here, Robin. I concede." Slade turns away, dismissing him.

Robin�s hands clench. The *hell* Slade gets to do that! Snarls silently and leaps; Slade sidesteps, but Robin gets his hands fisted in the kevlar of Slade�s suit and growls furiously into Slade�s emotionless mask.

"Congratulations, Robin. You�ve just won. Are you happy?

*No.*

"Fuck you, bastard, you don�t get to *do* this! You don�t *get* to leave me!"

Slade�s eye widens as Robin�s brain processes what he just said. His mouth parts to say something, deny it, but he can�t think of anything to say. Except what he already did.

"Leave... *you*," Slade says, almost purring. "Now, Robin, why would *you* factor into my decision at all?"

"... Maybe because you've been *stalking* me since before I even knew you *existed*?" And now Slade�s saying that Robin doesn�t matter. That he can just be thrown away like he�s nothing, like he�s worthless.

Fuck *that*.

"I watched you to test whether or not you would be a worthy apprentice. You rejected that offer. What value do you really think you have any more?" Slade�s voice is utterly calm, with no trace of emotion whatsoever. Robin�s hands loosen, shaking slightly. "Since you�re useless to me now, I am going elsewhere. Now... let go of me. Instantly."

Robin doesn�t quite know how to react. His brain won�t work, simply replaying "Useless to me now, useless to me now..." over and over until he wants to scream.

His body wants to curl in on itself like it�s been gut-stabbed, protecting against a fatal wound, and why is he reacting like this, anyway? It�s just... just Slade.

Just Slade.

No one *important*, after all; not like it�s anyone he�d stolen for and� and for whom he�d made Starfire *cry* and� it�s just Slade. Just a criminal, like any other.

Except that he�d be *glad* to see any other criminal go. Even Red X, and he kind of, just a little bit, maybe, likes the quick-witted thief.

His throat burns, tightening. "The *hell* you are." He spits the words out and watches Slade�s eye narrow.

"Oh? And why would I stay? ... *You*?" Slade laughs. "You no longer have anything that would induce me to stay here, child."

Robin swallows. Forces his hands to unclench and his legs to move backwards a step. Slade watches him let go, something cruel and cold gleaming in his eye. The expression makes something twist low in Robin�s stomach.

And then Slade�s *on* him, sending him into the wall and maybe Robin should have been more careful to stay near an open space?

Hands on his shoulders, hauling him up and pinning him, body pressing close too-close to his and holding him still. Slade�s so damn *fast*; Robin had barely seen him move.

"I am mildly curious, though� why the insistence? What do you *want* from my presence in your city?"

"I--I don�t..." Robin wants to know why Slade�s suddenly bored with him. He wants to know why that upsets him. He wants to know why, after the dust, he�d woken hard and bruised from *something�s* hands on him, and thought for an instant that he�d seen a gleam of orange metal.

He�d gone back to the box and gotten Slade�s mask, checking it again for hallucinogens. Finding none, he�d brought it back to his room again.

Because Slade wasn�t gone permanently. Robin had known it. And he�d been right.

Slade�s back.

And now Slade�s leaving again.

"Robin... you grow tiresome. Either redeem yourself or leave. What do you *want*?"

He still doesn�t know. Not really. "I..." But he knows what he *doesn�t* want, and so he takes a deep breath and a risk. "You."

Slade's eye widens again and then narrows, grip tightening. "That's not something to joke about, Robin..."

"Not... not joking." He's not sure what to say, but at least he's gotten a *reaction*. Robin leans his head back, looking up at Slade, defenses falling. This *matters*. "I'm serious..." He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. "I don't know what I'd do... without you." The words burn like acid in his mouth, but he forces himself onward. It needs to be said. "You're the reason I get up in the morning now... finding you. Beating you. It can't end like this; you can�t just *leave*."

Slade releases Robin and backs away slightly. "Stop."

"No." Robin takes a step forward, pushing his limits.

Something strange flickers through Slade's eye, darkening it just for an instant. He lifts one hand casually and backhands Robin, as though trying to knock some sense into him. "Snap out of it, boy..." he drawls. �I'll hardly stay here just to let you work out your mentor issues."

Robin freezes, head still turned to the side and cheek burning from Slade's hit. At least Slade's mostly back to normal now: it was just *off* to have Slade simply dodging. This is better.

Slade snorts out a sound of disgust, as though he can read that thought, that feeling. "You haven't learned a thing that I've tried to teach you, Robin... honestly, I'm out of patience. And *you* are out of chances."

Robin's breath catches and his eyes fly back to Slade, livid with indignation behind the white lenses. "Teach me? Teach me? You haven't taught me anything!"

"Obviously," Slade drawls. "If I *had*, you wouldn't be *nearly* so... pathetic.

"You've come to me, alone again... running like a fool. What if this had been a trap?" Slade cocks his head. "Which isn't, of course, to say that it's not... but you've followed that inconstant heart of yours, once again, and left your head behind in your precious Tower."

"This has nothing to do with my �heart�." Robin growls through gritted teeth.

�Oh?" Slade asks, arched eyebrow evident in his tone, though it's hidden by his mask. "You are a walking contradiction, Robin."

It *doesn't* have anything to do with emotions. Nothing like that. But he's not sure how to say that and be believed.

Slade seems to sense that thought as well. "I'm the reason you get up in the morning? You don't know what you'd do without me?" Teeth flash behind the grille of his mask, a faint flicker of white in shadow. "I think I'm touched, Robin."

Robin's eyes narrow, a muscle in his jaw jumping and fists clenching at his sides. "Don't take it the wrong way, Slade... I'm just not built to take a draw."

Slade grabs Robin by the throat, *hard* and before Robin can react, all but leering down at him. "I know, Robin... I've always *admired* that about you. It is, after all, a trait so very similar to me."

Robin's eyes widen and his breath catches harshly in his lungs. "Let go," he groans, pain beginning to build in his lungs--oxygen deprivation, Batman says coldly in his mind.

Slade's grip tightens and he pulls Robin to him again. "If I thought that's what you really wanted, Robin, I would... but now I'm not so sure.

"Didn't you say that what you wanted was me? Make up your mind, Robin. This game is getting a little old."

Robin tries to think. He can�t, not of anything but Slade *leaving* and how that can�t happen. Lifts leaden arms slowly, his head swimming in steadily darkening fog. He wraps his arms around Slade's neck clumsily and pulls himself forward. Slade loosens his hold, but by now Robin�s clinging to him, holding Slade there and not letting him go, breathing shallowly and fast through a rapidly bruising throat.

"Robin--"

Robin pulls himself upward with obvious difficulty and whispers with the last of his air, mouth against the cold metal of Slade's mask, "You can't leave... not with me still alive... I won't lose to you, can't win like *this*..."

"Won't lose you..." Robin repeats muzzily, that one missing word making all the difference as he trails his tongue over the slits in Slade's mask. "Can't lose you again..."

Slade had *died*. Slade had died and then he was back and Robin's *not* letting him go again. He... Slade means too much.

Because as much as he hates to admit it, even in the safety of his own head (and, more than once, the safety of his own bed...) Slade is a part of him. As much as his mask, his name... as much as... "Bruce..." It's a barely audible whimper as he bows his head against Slade's armored shoulder, darkness crashing in...

Until Slade lets go completely and whirls, throwing Robin *hard* to the floor. "Didn't I say that I wasn't interested in helping you work out your mentor issues? Go to the Bat for this, child."

Robin lies still, coughing and dazed on the floor, looking up at Slade. "Can't..." he manages to gasp out.

"Tch..." Slade shakes his head. "This isn't my problem, boy..."

"Don't... don't want to." He can breathe again, sort of. He can almost think. His lungs burn and... and he's half-hard. When had *that* happened?

Slade's eyes sweep over Robin critically as he kneels and reaches out, tangling his gauntleted fingers in Robin's hair and tugging slightly. "You don�t even know what you're asking for, little bird..."

Robin's mouth opens to say something. What would he say? What *can* he say? He licks his lips nervously, eyes wide and focused on Slade.

Slade stares into Robin's eyes for a long moment, as Robin shakes slightly and tries to breathe past the look he�s getting. Wrenches Robin's head back and traces the fingers of his free hand up Robin's cheek, strangely gentle but for the hand so tight in his hair. And the sudden shock of *pain* when Slade's fingers yank the mask from his face, tearing adhesive and skin and making Robin cry out, try to rip himself free of Slade. It doesn't work.

Slade runs his metal-tipped fingertips over the raw spaces under Robin's eyes. If Robin had been looking at him then, he would have seen Slade lift his other hand to his own mask, hesitating. "You don't know what you do to people, do you?" he growls softly, a tender kind of rage tingeing every word. "You think you can just decide to care?" He snorts. "Too late, Robin..."

"You think I *decided* this?" Robin asks indignantly, eyes flying open in shocked fury. "You... I don�t *want* to need you!"

"But you admit that you do, Robin... You could have decided not to." He grips Robin's chin, more gently than he had before. "You could have turned to your friends and left my defeat to others... more capable of taking me down." He traces the mark his hand left on Robin's cheek; Robin bites his lip and tries to think.

"... " No. No, he really couldn't have done that; Robin's *never* been able to forget about Slade or let someone else try to defeat him. But he doesn't know how to say it, or even if he entirely wants to.

"All this hardship, all this pain... and for what?" Slade hisses, his eye filled with sudden, terrifying rage. "For a victory you will never achieve? To prove yourself?"

Robin snarls. "I showed up here because you said you were *leaving*. You don't get to do that!" Why aren't I *good* enough for you anymore, he doesn't ask, any more than he asks why he feels the need to prove himself to Slade. He also knows that he hasn't *really* answered the question Slade had asked.

Slade snorts. "I don't answer to you, boy." His grip tightens again. "But *you* will answer to *me*."

"I--I don't *know*, all right?!?" He's scared and furious and just a little thrilled: Slade can and probably will hurt him. Robin doesn't *care*.

Slade's fingers tighten even further; Robin shudders and whimpers in pain, low in his throat. "I suggest that you figure it out, Robin... or I'm leaving, and your friends won't be able to patch you up enough for you to follow me anywhere..."

Robin tries to think. What would surprise Slade enough that Robin could catch his interest again, make him stay? "Was for you. I wanted... I wanted you to pay *attention* to me, and think about me--like I thought about you."

Slade's eye widens slightly. "And how was that, Robin?"

Robin licks his lips nervously. "I... I dreamed about you. Thought about you all the time. Couldn't get you out of my *head*. Even when you died, I didn't believe you were really gone. I *couldn't*. You... you meant too much." He can't breathe properly, and there's something tight and hot low in the pit of his belly. He's hard again, watching Slade watch him and feeling Slade's hand on his skin.

Slade reaches up to finger his own mask again, metal-encased fingertips sliding over the featureless expanse of bronze. He shifts his hold to the back of Robin's neck, letting him breathe. "You don't even know me," Slade murmurs softly. Hint of steel behind his words and Robin shivers slightly. This entire thing will be *more* than worth it if he gets to see Slade�s face.

"... Yes, I do. You're just like me."

The hand on the back of his neck tightens slightly as Slade backhands Robin again, almost too fast to see. "No... *you* are just like *me*, Robin."

Robin stumbles, but catches himself. Ordinarily he'd argue that point, but--Slade's on him again, knocking Robin to the ground for the second time that day. He's getting tired of losing. Still... he's *missed* the rush of dealing with Slade. Losing is *worth* that, even if he'd rather win.

Robin's pinned underneath Slade; the man is balanced too well to throw off, and it... it feels *good*. One of Slade's hands is clamped around his throat just hard enough to keep his head still; Robin pants against the hold and tries not to moan. "This isn't a game, Robin," Slade growls viciously.

It takes Robin a moment to process that statement, body shaking slightly under the stress of his own self-imposed restraint. All the long nights spent tense and alone, trying not to think of Slade, not to dream of him... not to take each fight and rewrite the ending so that Slade won, and Robin didn't escape, and his nights were filled with-- "I never said it was, Slade," he spits through clenched teeth, mostly just to derail his train of thought. Because just *very* no. "You're the one who acts like it doesn't matter." Like *I* don't matter.

Flicker of something in Slade's eye. "Is it *my* fault that you became so much less interesting to play with?"

If it's not a game, Robin thinks, mind racing, trying to make sense of all this despite his raging emotions and the heat of Slade pressed against him in all the wrong--*right*--places...

What's he *missing*? There's something he doesn't know, doesn't understand, that he *needs* to. Slade's hand is still around his throat, thumb rubbing idly over his too-fast pulse. Robin's finding it difficult to think clearly; every millimeter of his body that isn't being used to press against Slade feels like it's being criminally wasted.

He arches against Slade despite his best efforts, a groan spilling from his lips. "Why then? Oh, God... What did I do?" His voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing this all to just go away...

Slade�s hand remains a steady pressure, and the man�s body doesn�t move at all. "I am not certain that you *deserve* to know, Robin..."

"... Please..."

He *needs* to know, so that he won't mess up again. He can't lose Slade again.

Robin shudders when Slade presses harder. "Much better, Robin... good to see you've finally learned some manners."

"*Tell* me! What--what did I do wrong?" The words spill from his mouth without his brain's permission, as his body shakes and writhes to have Slade touch him further. He's never even let himself dream of this, and now he *has* it. Can *take* it, if Slade will let him.

Slade is silent for a long moment, which only makes Robin more agitated: what�s Slade *thinking*? Slade traces the fading mark on his face once again, the metal of his gauntlets rasping against Robin's skin as he drags his knuckles over Robin's parted lips. "Everything, Robin... *Everything*..."

"... Really *not* helpful," he gasps out. He can't *fix* �everything�. When Slade's eye narrows and his hand draws away, Robin whimpers high in his throat and arches his head to follow; Slade's fingers pause long enough that Robin manages to capture two and draw them into his mouth, whining when they jerk and the metal scratches his tongue.

The bitter, slightly tangy taste of Slade�s gauntlets is almost everything *bad*, he *knows* it�s bad, that he�s ever wanted, and he bucks underneath Slade as the man withdraws his fingers. Slade leans down, nearly crushing Robin under the increased weight, and whispers coldly, "You have issues, kid..." Plants one hand next to Robin's head, staying close for a second. "Major issues." He stands and the sudden void makes Robin cry out, cold air rushing over him where a furnace had been only moments ago.

*Now* what did he do wrong? "Slade, *please*," and he's never known how much he needed this--needed *Slade*--before he no longer had it. He's not sure what he'll do if Slade simply walks away, but he *does* know that if Slade tries that? Someone is going to get *hurt*, because Robin is going to *have* this.

Slade looks down at Robin, masked face unreadable and grey eye dark. "Pathetic, Robin... that you've been reduced to *this*."

All right, *now* he's pissed, because Slade's the one who *made* him �this�. Snarls and flips off the floor faster than he's ever moved in his life, kicking Slade's legs from underneath him with an unprecedented viciousness and pinning the man. Robin doesn't have *nearly* enough weight to hold Slade still, but a birdarang to his vulnerable throat, *just* under that damn mask, works *better*. "I am *not* pathetic."

Slade's eye flashes and he smiles up at Robin. "That's a start, boy..." He grabs Robin's shoulders and flips them over, taking Robin's wrists in his hands and stretching his arms up over his head. "But you still have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Robin doesn't resist the role-reversal, too shocked by the vivid blood spurting over Slade's gleaming chest guard to either keep his grip on the birdarang or fight the pin. But when Slade holds him *down*... Robin hisses, squirming slightly underneath the heavy weight. Slade certainly doesn't seem worried, so... it's not a big deal. *Nothing* compared to *this*. "Prove it."

Slade uses one knee to spread Robin's legs further apart, and then just *presses* down with his hips, body seemingly made of liquid heat everywhere it connects with Robin's. "Foolish child," he snarls. "You should know better. This isn't a *challenge* for me. It isn't even a victory. You are nothing but a toy: a broken, useless toy."

*Bullshit*, he wants to say, except that he isn't entirely sure that that's true. Wants to ask Slade why he's bothering, if Robin's nothing but a toy--only then Slade might leave, and that's just *no*. Not happening. So he just whimpers low in his chest and tries to think enough to make some sort of plan to prove Slade wrong. Which would be so much *easier* if Slade would stop *rocking* like that against him, oh, *God*, that feels good, and Robin isn't sure whether he's spoken aloud or not.

"Just a *tool*..." Slade rasps, voice ragged and somehow brutal. "Nothing more... just a tool, and you're all. Used. Up." He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, every aspect of his body carefully controlled, perfectly regulated... except his voice.

Slade holds both of Robin's wrists with one hand, sliding the other one down Robin's side, shifting his weight so that he can run his fingers over Robin's stomach. "Tell me what you want, toy..."

"*Please*," Robin says, and his voice cracks on the plea. His hands spasm and the muscles of his arms jerk against Slade's grip. He almost breaks it, but Slade presses harder and Robin's hit with a sense memory of what that fist feels like slamming into his solar plexus. It doesn't make him one *iota* less aroused, and his eyes almost roll back in his head when Slade *purrs*.

Slade traces small circles on Robin's abdomen, pressing down harder than necessary, but not progressing. "That's not an answer, boy... Tell me what you want..."

"Ah, Christ, *touch* me!" Robin tries to breathe, but every exhale is a whine and he can't stop *moving*, arching into every touch except where he can't move because Slade's holding him too tightly. "Please, I want... want you to touch me."

Slade clucks his tongue and snorts. "Tch..." He releases Robin's hands and stands in one fluid motion. "Do it yourself..." He crosses his arms against his chest and stares down at Robin, safe behind his mask.

"*Bastard*", Robin snarls, clenching his fists. Powered by anger, he bounds up from the floor to glare furiously at Slade. The man's a fucking *tease*.

"There's a surprise... I was sure you wouldn't be able to stand." He says it matter-of-factly and shakes his head. "No matter..." He lashes out, catching Robin across the mouth with the back of his hand. "Watch your mouth, Robin� or I'll put it to better use."

Robin can taste his own blood; Slade's gauntlet cut his lip open and the liquid drips over his chin. He's still harder than he's ever been in his life, and Slade's threat--promise?--isn't deterring that even a *little* bit.

A shudder tears through Robin and he staggers forward a step. "You wouldn't." His usual confidence has been replaced with a half-horrified, half-hopeful gasp. Slade reaches out and grabs another fistful of Robin's hair, shoving him to his knees.

"Are you certain of that, Robin?" he growls, words almost lost in the deep rumble of his voice. He watches Robin twitch for a second before wrenching the boy's head back. "Fool." He pushes Robin away. "I think you'd like it a little too much..."

Robin wipes his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, leaving streaks of red on the green. Looks up at Slade from his knees, mouth parted to say... something. But he's caught and pinned by the sheer *heat* he can see in Slade's eye, and the only noise that comes out is a groaned version of Slade's name.

After a long moment--*too* long, Robin�s heart pounds and his lungs don�t work properly--Slade reaches down again, twisting his fingers in the front of Robin's tunic and hauling him to his feet. He whirls Robin around and slams him into the wall: face-first, one arm twisted behind his back.

Stretching Robin's arm until he can feel the muscles straining and popping, tendons creaking in protest; Slade leans in close and murmurs in his ear. "*Do* you realize what you're asking for, boy?"

No. No, he doesn't, not really, but he knows what he *wants*. "Slade, *please*!" Half-moaned, half-sobbed, and Robin's going to dream of this for *years*.

Slade stops tugging Robin's arm--*just* short of dislocation; Robin will be able to use it tomorrow, but it�s going to *hurt*--and drops his limp wrist, driving his fist into Robin's shoulder blade and pinning him firmly, his other hand drifting to Robin's waistband. Robin shudders. "Shut up..." Slade rasps. Pause that makes Robin seriously consider begging again before cold fingers start pulling down his tights.

Robin tenses and moans, bruised cheek scraping against the wall as he shifts and spreads his legs wider. He's never done this before, but he knows the basic theory, and his body is telling him in no uncertain terms what he should do.

Then Slade backs away, releasing him from the pin. Robin whimpers pleadingly; he won�t be able to pull off the trick he did before with his clothing disarrayed as it is. "Pathetic..." Slade reaches around Robin�s hips, fumbling at his belt; the thing�s defended. Robin says nothing, knowing that Slade already knows how to avoid its traps from the time spent studying it when Robin had worn Slade�s colors. The man unclasps it and brushes against Robin's erection; Robin�s hips buck forward as his throat makes a choked �nnnn� sound. Robin can barely hear Slade rummaging through the belt over the blood rushing through his ears, but he hears the grunt of amused satisfaction. "What a good little Boy Scout..."

Robin growls and snorts something that might have been a laugh if he hadn't been half-choked with need. "Always... be... prepared..."

Slade presses his still-gauntleted hand to the small of Robin's back, rucking his tunic up. "Oh, we haven't even *begun* to prepare, Robin..."

The metal's cold on his back; Robin jerks and hisses from the touch. Bites his lip from the promise.

Slade holds him still and snorts; Robin can hear him uncapping the tube of lubricant that Slade had found in Robin�s belt. "You're lucky I feel like enjoying this..."

Robin's eyes snap open in reaction. There are *limits* to how far Robin would permit--*want*, Robin, let's be honest; it�s not you *letting* this happen, it�s you actively encouraging--Slade to go, but... now is a *really* bad time to turn this into another power play. Robin doesn't say anything, controlling his pride.

Slade leans in, stroking Robin's back almost tenderly... except for the cold metal of his gauntlet keeping Robin firmly in the present, in reality. His other hand descends, slickened index finger finding Robin's entrance without preamble. "Now, don't lie to me... have you done this before?"

"... No." There've been a few people he's wanted, but no one he's touched. Or who�ve touched *him*.

Slade makes a tiny noise. "Good... Right answer, Robin." He presses forward; Robin tenses instinctively and rises onto his toes when Slade presses deeper. "I know you're leaning towards the masochistic, kid... but *relax* or this is going to fucking *kill*..."

Robin whines and arches his back slightly in reaction to Slade�s spread hand there. Focuses; slips into a breathing pattern that Bruce taught him years ago for minimizing stress and muscle damage. Slade had refined that knowledge when Robin had served him, teaching him how to use the technique to force muscle relaxation. Robin uses it now.

"Very good... very good..." Slade murmurs, pressing deeper as Robin relaxes around his finger. Slade pauses again and starts to withdraw; a groan spills from Robin�s mouth as his muscles tighten around it. There are a few more testing motions before little bigger, little thicker, little fuller: Slade�s added a second finger. *Faster*.

"Nnn", the sound forces itself from behind Robin's clenched teeth. It hurts, but... Slade's being careful. Robin can tell that it could easily hurt a lot *worse*. And it feels... it *burns*, stretching him and making him *arch* into the wall and back onto Slade's hand and *God*, why hadn't he ever done this *before*? "Come *on*, *please*..." Sudden flare behind his eyes, his spine is made of molten lava: Slade's crooked his fingers. Robin bites his lip muffling *that* noise.

Slade leans his head forward, breath gusting over Robin�s cheek through the slits in his mask. "Scream for me, boy... scream for me, and there's so much more..."

Faint flicker of pride that says no, but then something *twists* inside him and Robin unthinkingly obeys. Screams. Slade's fingers, had to be, he thinks fuzzily, but he stops thinking when the sensation increases and Slade does it *again*.

Savage thrust in before withdrawal. Robin hisses and lets his forehead lean against the wall. Slick, solid heat against the curve of his ass, but *lingering* there rather than� Robin quivers.

"Say it, Robin... do you want this? Do you realize what we're doing here?" Slade�s voice is even, cool, controlled. Nothing like Robin�s, but he can�t make himself regret coming here. Or staying, even though it�s just *like* Slade to make Robin admit to himself that he wants it.

He'd have gotten the fuck *out* by now if he didn't want what he�s getting. He'd have tried, anyway. "*Yes.*" Braces against the wall and shoves his hips backwards, demanding. Pleading. Begging. He doesn't *care*, so long as he gets what he wants.

Slade shifts his hands to Robin's hips, slowing the movements slightly as he enters. Bigger than fingers. Harder. Robin squirms, wriggling, but Slade neither slows down nor speeds up. *Keeps* going, and Robin hears himself whimper choked little mewls, like he's some baby *animal*, that rip themselves free of his throat. *Then* Slade *thrusts*; Robin screams, but it feels *good*. Even while it hurts. He waits a moment, going over the sensations for too-much pain, before he lets his body do what it wants to do; *move*. Take Slade deeper.

Robin shifts position slightly as he moves and instantly arches at the feeling, throwing his head back against Slade's armored shoulder, "*Fuck*", he hisses viciously. His hands shake on the wall. "Slade, *touch me*, I... *please*." Slade shudders against him; the next thrust is deeper, harder, faster, and Robin's left arm buckles, sending them both against the wall. Robin doesn't care; all he can feel is where Slade's touching him and where he's *not*. His entire body is devoted to Slade's presence.

He can also feel that the fall shifted Slade inside him. Robin bites the inside of his cheek and manages not to yell, but he can't stop himself *tightening*. Quick, frantic gasp *in* when Slade moans into his ear and thrusts *more*. Robin's cheek scrapes roughly against the concrete wall with every motion; it'll heal. This is *much* more important. "*Slade*!"

Firm, callused hand on him that *twists* and Robin comes, spilling over Slade�s fingers, spasming around him and turning his head into Slade�s shoulder. Muffles his cry, biting down on the uniform. Slade groans, hoarse and low and deep, and comes. Robin feels his knees buckle slightly, and when Slade pulls out of him it�s only Robin�s right arm that keeps him upright.

Robin leans against the wall and tries to remember how to breathe. He can't stand properly, swaying on his feet. Lets himself slide to the floor, wincing when he kneels and instantly shifting to lie against the wall. Slade was careful, yes, but Robin's a little sore still. Raises his head to look Slade in the eye: Robin has no idea what Slade sees, but he can guess what he looks like. Bruised cheekbone, scraped-raw cheek, dried blood on his chin, raw skin around his eyes, swollen mouth, bruises in the shape of Slade's fingers on his hips.

Slade looks down at Robin critically, and fastens his belt, putting himself to rights. "Nice try, kid..." He turns away. "I'm--I'm still not staying..."

Robin's eyes widen. Slade *can't* leave. "... Why not?" His voice is hoarse, Robin notes with some part of his numbed mind. Throat's a little sore.

Slade snorts. "Now there's *really* nothing here for me..."

Robin flinches. The second he does he knows he shouldn't have, but... had he ruined his chances of maybe getting Slade to stay by letting himself have what he wants? "I..." He doesn't know what he might say. So he doesn't say anything, merely closing his mouth and continuing to watch Slade.

"Five words or less, Robin... I'm already running late and I have a plane to catch."

He doesn't know what he could say. Or do. He has a moment of utter fury at Raven, for knowing him well enough to make him promise to come back. Otherwise, Robin might have asked Slade to take him along. "What's your full birth name?"

Slade turns his head, eye narrowed. "Strange question... but I suppose there's no sense in hiding it from you now... you'd have figured it out eventually anyway." He turns completely, looking Robin over again. "Slade Wilson."

Robin's eyes narrow. "... The first few months after I heard of you, I ran a search on people who had the first or last names 'Slade', purely for formality's sake... and found, among others, Vietnam veteran Slade Wilson. It didn't occur to me that you would use your real name, or I would have done full background checks on them. That's who you are?"

"Should have been more thorough. Could have saved yourself a lot of trouble. And yes, Robin... That's who I am. Look up the biography if you can. My life�s been an interesting read."

Robin smirks. "I have all the biographies on hard copy. With that, I can find background. Don't worry; I plan on looking you up *much* more thoroughly." Something flickers in his eyes, and, for just a moment, he hesitates. "... You're--you're going to miss your plane."

Slade bends down and picks up Robin's mask, tucking it behind his belt. "For now, I'll call it a draw, Robin. But someday, I'll come looking for a rematch... be ready." He turns and walks away.

Robin's eyes flash. "I will be." Leans against the wall and watches Slade leave, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself getting up and running after. He has Slade's name. He has access to Slade's face, life, history. If necessary, he can find Slade quickly and easily. It's *enough*, and he doesn't want Slade to think he's some pathetic kid, after all.

He�d had quite enough of that already.

--Fin.

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