Title: Stockholm Interlude III
Author: Katarik
Fandom: Animated Teen Titans
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Slade/Robin

Summary: What if, during Robin's time as Slade's apprentice, Robin had developed Stockholm's Syndrome?
Disclaimers: DC Comics owns the original characters.
Warnings: DARK. I cannot emphasize that enough. DARK DARK DARK.
Notes: Beginning from the scene in Chapter 3 where Robin leans against Slade's shoulder as they're going to the infirmary.

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

When Robin leans against his shoulder, Slade almost stops breathing. If he weren't wearing his uniform, he'd be able to feel Robin's hair tickling his jaw and Robin's breath warm against his throat.

He can't entirely stop himself from stroking Robin's arm, but hides it in shifting the boy for a better grip.

Robin murmurs faintly, soft sounds of what appear to be contentment. Slade bites his cheek hard enough to make it bleed and keeps walking.

When they reach the infirmary, Slade stops. Robin moves: Slade knows the exact instant that Robin sees the bathtub. He can almost feel the boy's eyes widening. Tightens his grip. Robin stills obediently in his arms.

"Good boy. And because you behaved well, you may have another choice: you can be rendered unconscious for the process of debriding, which happens to be quite painful and somewhat degrading. Or you can remain awake." Slade releases Robin, and the boy lands more awkwardly than his usual grace, turning to look Slade in the eye. Someday very soon, Slade will know what color his boy's eyes are.

The boy merely looks, for a time. Slade watches his face tighten as he thinks. Decides. "Unconscious."

... Does Robin even *know* the kind of invitation he has just issued?

Slade's hand darts out, closing around Robin's throat and watching his eyes widen. Hears him choke and gasp and feels him fight. Doesn�t move, tightening his hand inexorably. "Robin," he hears himself say, and sees the boy collapse.

Catches him with one hand, and touches Robin�s jaw.

Traces slack, open lips, and shudders.

Lays the boy face-down and takes off his own gauntlets, as well as his shirt: water and kevlar simply don�t need to be in contact. Slade runs his bare hands over the small of Robin's back and nearly moans at just skin-on-skin.

He is becoming far too involved in this.

But he doesn't stop. Slips one hand under Robin's waistband to peel off the pants: they need washing. Badly.

So does Robin. Slade distracts himself with inanities as he removes the pants and fills the tub with warm water. No soap; the burn needs debriding first. He turns back to Robin, lying limp on the cold tile, and takes a harsh breath. Slips off the boy's underwear and lifts him into the tub.

Robin's nipples are hard.

Slade shakes once, hard, and focuses on the task at hand. He deliberately recalls the research he'd done on burn care and begins to slough off the dead skin. The damage extends into actual muscle tissue as well; Robin will have to rebuild that. It will take time.

The boy tore the wound open further fighting Slade. He tsks and runs water over it, washing away dried blood and pus. Robin stirs and makes a small, soft noise; Slade hears a muffled noise come from his own throat and grips the boy�s neck again, sending him back to unconsciousness.

Robin whimpers so *prettily* when Slade touches the burn, even though he can't possibly feel a thing.

Sets his teeth and forces himself to forget everything but what needs doing. For a time, he succeeds, and the waters are pink with blood. Dead skin floats on the surface and pus has almost stopped seeping from the wound. Slade picks Robin up again and drains the tub.

Soft, smooth, warmly damp skin; Robin makes another small sound and Slade glances down at his lightly flushed face. God help him, the boy's so damn *pretty*.

Slade leans Robin against the side of the tub and refills it, getting a loofah from a drawer. Now the boy needs an actual bath.

Puts him back in the hot water and runs a callused hand down his ribcage. Robin's too skinny. And he should probably be getting more fluids; Slade makes a note to put him on an IV after the bath.

Doesn't stop touching him.

He grabs the soap and lathers the loofah. Runs it over the boy's arm, cleaning him.

Tries to ignore the fact that he can see every inch of the boy's scarred skin, including Robin's penis. Which happens to be beginning to harden: heat and physical contact.

Slade hears himself make a choked groan, and is *very* happy that no one is around to hear him.

Scrubs the soapy tool over Robin's other arm, over his throat. Hefts him out of the water and cleans his defenseless stomach. Robin makes a short, liquid sound and shifts enough that he almost falls back into the water.

Naked Robin in his tub, vulnerable and wet and even unconscious he makes such pretty sounds, whimpering when Slade touches near the burn and moaning when Slade twists his spine back into position, mewling when Slade's breathing goes ragged and he runs a soap-slick hand over the boy's thigh. Spreads Robin�s legs.

*Beautiful*. Such a child. Slade can't make himself care past the choking hunger in his chest.

He sees his hand reach out as though it belongs to someone else. Watches--*feels*--it stroke over the smooth skin of Robin�s inner thigh.

The want for this boy is going to kill him. Slade knows what it is to want a lover, to have someone stir blood and loins and spin images in his mind. A slow hunger in the blood, gnawing there until satisfied.

There is nothing slow about his desire for Robin. It�s sharp, constant and painful.

He had only ever wanted one other person enough that the hunger caused him pain: she had put a ring on his finger, borne him two children, and put a bullet in his head.

Adeline had cost him one eye and everything that he might have been. Robin has cost him time and trouble. The fact that Robin has caused him pain is *not* a good omen.

Slade doesn�t care.

Takes the boy in hand and listens to him groan low in his chest. Slade shifts position enough to slide his other hand under Robin�s head and make certain that he comes to no further harm.

Robin�s hand clenches. Slade�s own hand moves to his throat and tightens; he slumps, after a few seconds, and slips back into unconsciousness.

Better, for now, to have this be something the boy recalls only in his dreams, if he recalls it at all. Later, Slade will hear him beg in earnest.

Velvet over steel and Slade is aware of his own arousal solely as a distracting fever in his blood. It doesn�t matter *nearly* so much as feeling Robin come undone under his touch.

He still makes such lovely sounds, soft keening whimpers when Slade runs a callused thumb over the vein and sharp yelps when a fingernail presses into the head of his erection and traces the urethra. And even unconscious Robin doesn't stay still: pushes his hips urgently into every caress and writhes pleadingly when Slade merely strokes his abdomen. God, he's such a *pretty* boy.

Slade moves back to Robin's thighs, running his fingers lightly over the skin and under, pressing firmly into the perineum. Robin yips and only Slade's hand at the base of his neck keeps the boy's head above water.

If he'd been conscious then, would Robin have said Slade's name?

Strokes his hand back up, tracing his symbol over Robin's left testicle with one nail. Robin moans wordlessly. The water means that his hand moves slickly over the boy, but it also means that Slade won't be able to taste.

That's all right. He'll have plenty of opportunities in the future.

Adds a twist to his next upstroke, just to hear the boy cry out softly.

Lovely sound. Slade smiles like a wolf behind his mask and tastes his own blood in an effort not to go further than he should.

Patience, after all, is a virtue.

Presses *hard* at the wet--with more than water, Slade can almost smell it--slit; the boy cries out again and spurts against Slade's hand.

"*Mine*," Slade hears himself say.

Tries to make his body take deep breaths again. He's still hard.

Notes, with a faint surprise, that the water has gone cold.

Forces himself to let go of the boy. Drains the tub *again*; this time he's using the shower, damn it. This is ridiculous.

He'd made such *noises*, and his skin's so soft. Despite the scars, the calluses, the old--and fresh--burn marks. Slade shudders and turns the showerhead on.

The water beats down on the boy, washing away sweat and semen. Slade hesitates briefly: he should remove the mask. But Robin might waken. But... Slade is more than fast enough to knock him out again.

And once the boy�s broken, masks won�t matter at all. That time will come very soon now.

Slade�s fingers dance over the catches, removing the heavy mask.

Picks up the abandoned loofah again. He grits his teeth and re-soaps it, scrubbing Robin�s long, muscled calves.

The boy had desperately needed a bath. It�s just a bonus that he had elected unconsciousness, meaning that Slade can touch as he wills.

Finishes cleaning his legs and rolls Robin over onto his stomach to reach his back again. Slade looks critically at the wound: it needs bandaging, once the skin dries.

The curve of Robin�s spine *begs* for Slade�s mouth, for a semi-permanent line of bite marks trailing down from the nape of his neck to where it disappears into shadow.

Slade closes his eyes. Opens them again to focus on the boy�s bruised throat: there�s not too much damage. The skin should heal in a few days.

Until it does, Robin will have Slade�s marks on him where everyone can see them. Where the boy can *feel* them every time he breathes.

Christ. He needs to go find a whore or something and burn this lust from his body so that he can *think* again. This is ludicrous.

He has better control than this, he *knows* he does. Deliberately focuses his mind on what needs doin--completing. He shampoos Robin�s hair, laughing softly at what he thinks the boy�s face will be when he sees what has become of his so-carefully styled hair.

Doesn�t notice that it�s soft under his hands. Doesn�t notice, when he turns off the shower and lifts the boy from the tub, that Robin--even *unconscious*--turns into his shoulder. Lays him on a towel and wipes the water away. His hands don�t linger on the curve of muscle, or on the *obscenely* soft skin where Robin�s thigh joins his hip.

Slade picks the boy up again and carries him to the regular infirmary area, placing him on a cot. Inserting an IV into Robin�s arm when he needs to lie on his stomach, to avoid irritating the burn further, is a tricky but not impossible task.

And then Robin stirs. This time Slade lets him wake. "S--Slade...?" His voice is hoarse.

"Shh, Robin. Go back to sleep." Slips in the IV.

He hasn�t put a sedative in either the fluid bag or the nutrient bag, so he�s a little surprised when Robin does.

And a little pleased.

He tries not to run his fingers through the boy�s dripping hair, and doesn�t succeed. Moves back to the bathroom to retrieve the bits of his uniform.

When he comes back, Robin�s still sleeping. Slade sets up a chessboard and begins to play against himself. Listens to his boy breathe.

--Fin Interlude III.

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