Chapter Text
Dick eyes the object in Slade's hand, biting his lip as the man walks closer. His hands twist anxiously behind him, wrists stinging as the action rubs the rope uncomfortably against his skin.
"Slade, come on," Dick protests.
Slade only cocks an eyebrow at him. He reaches out with his free hand, stroking his fingers through Dick's hair in a soothing motion, but Dick can barely feel the—usually pleasant—sensation, his attention still fixed on what Slade holds in his other fist.
"Have I ever led you astray?" Slade asks, and Dick looks up at him, unimpressed, which makes Slade's lips twitch in amusement. "In the bedroom," he clarifies. "The field doesn't count. Have I ever done anything in here that you haven't liked?"
And, no, Slade hasn't. They've been doing this...thing for about six months now, whatever you want to call it. Certainly not a relationship, but maybe a bit of...mutual stress relief. Slade likes dominating, and Dick likes being dominated. It's a mutually beneficial thing they've got going on.
And in every scene they've done, everything Slade's suggested has been something Dick ended up enjoying. But...
But the blue ball gag in Slade's hand fills Dick with anxiety. He doesn't like the idea of having his voice taken from him; not only does it make safewording harder, but there's a serious helplessness in not even being able to do something as simple as smile. And while there's a lot Dick does like about being helpless in the bedroom—the fact that he's currently tied up naked on his knees is a testament to that—this is a final step of giving up agency that Dick really isn't crazy about.
He doesn't like blindfolds for much the same reason, but at least with a blindfold Dick can tell Slade exactly how much he doesn't like it, or if he's okay with having it on. A gag would take that away from him.
"No," Dick admits, "but this is..."
"It can come off as soon as you don't want it anymore," Slade assures. "But I think you'll enjoy this. Being completely helpless, at my mercy..."
The way he lowers his voice sends a pleasant shiver down Dick's spine. "As soon as I don't like it, you'll take it off?" Dick clarifies.
Slade nods, brushing his fingers through Dick's hair once more. "Just give me a signal, or hum one of those ridiculous pop songs you like, and the gag's gone."
Dick can't help but crack a smile at the amusement in Slade's voice, even as his stomach continues to flutter with anxiety. "I—okay. Okay, I'll try it."
"Good boy," Slade says approvingly.
He tilts Dick's chin up, lifting the gag towards Dick's mouth. Dick swallows and then drops his jaw, allowing Slade to press the ball between his teeth. The rubber is firm and an unusual taste against Dick's tongue; not unpleasant, necessarily, just...different.
Slade moves around to Dick's back, crouching down to buckle the gag into place. It's tight, pulling at his lips, but not to the point of pain. He'll just be a little sore later.
"There," Slade murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to the nape of Dick's neck in a gentle kiss. He's warm against Dick's back, and Dick relaxes into him, flexing his jaw to test what mobility he possesses—absolutely none.
Slade stands back up and then grips Dick's upper arms, using the hold to pull Dick to his feet and then towards the bed. Dick gets onto the bed on his knees, shuffling to the center and then glancing back at Slade over his shoulder.
The man is watching him with a burning gaze, desire clear, and normally this would be where Dick grins at him and says something flirtatious or goading, but that option has been taken away from him. So instead he just kneels there and keeps an eye on Slade as the other man strips and climbs onto the bed behind Dick.
Slade's hand settles between his shoulder blades and pushes, making Dick fall forward, grunting in surprise as his head hits the sheets. He turns his head to the side to shoot Slade a scathing look, hating that he can't tell Slade that that was unnecessary.
"Gorgeous as ever," Slade praises, not seeing the look on Dick's face as he admires Dick's ass, squeezing the cheeks in his large hands. Dick shudders as Slade flicks his finger against the base of the plug where it sits in his ass—put there earlier in the evening, when they began playing—and Slade gives a low chuckle in response, doing it again before grabbing ahold of the base and tugging.
It goes slowly and with an obscene wet noise from the lube that makes Dick's face heat with embarrassment and arousal alike.
"Look at you," Slade purrs as he finally removes the plug completely, inserting two of his fingers into Dick's ass. "All wet for me, ready for my use."
There are a million things Dick has lined up to say to that, but he can't voice a single one of them. Instead he makes the best disgruntled noise he can manage, and Slade swats him lightly on the ass for his trouble.
It's not long before Slade retracts his fingers and replaces it with his cock, hands clamping on Dick's hips as he pushes himself inside.
It's too much too fast, the plug not being anywhere close to the size of Slade, but Dick can do nothing but lie there and take it, not able to tell Slade to slow or ask for a moment to adjust before Slade starts pounding away.
Slade pulls his hips up further, forcing Dick's back into a deep arch. Dick gasps for air around the gag, unable to catch his breath under the force of Slade's thrusts. And it's not like Dick doesn't like it rough, he's always enjoyed Slade going hard with him, but he also likes being able to tell Slade if he needs a moment, if he needs to slow or even speed up.
Dick has no control, none whatsoever, and it's—he wants to have the gag out. He doesn't even want Slade to stop, not really, it does feel good despite the lack of air, but the gag has to go. Dick needs to be able to communicate.
He signs Stop with his hands, exaggerating the motion to try to make sure Slade sees it.
Nothing changes. Slade keeps thrusting inside of him, powerful and unescapable.
Okay, so, Slade just isn't looking. That's fine, that's okay, Slade gave him another way to show that he doesn't want the gag. So he starts humming the newest Taylor Swift song, pitching his voice high enough to be heard by Slade.
But almost as soon as he starts, Slade's angle adjusts, and suddenly he's hitting Dick's prostate with every thrust. Dick's humming breaks off with a moan.
Okay. Okay, this doesn't have to be a bad thing. Everything's okay, this feels good, so it's—it's okay. He can live with it. The gag will be out soon. He just has to remember that; the gag will be out soon, and then he can tell Slade that he doesn't want to wear one again, and that will be that.
"Such a good little bird," Slade coos above him, "taking it like a good slut. Not so mouthy now, hm? Split open on my cock where you belong. Should gag you more often."
Dick's chest spikes with anxiety, but he reminds himself that they always say shit like that during sex, Dick can still say no. When this is over, he'll say no. And he'll tell Slade that he needs to work on paying attention, so he sees Dick's signal next time.
He moans as he feels himself getting close, teeth digging into the rubber ball as he thrusts back against Slade, encouraging him to go deeper, harder.
"You want to come, boy?" Slade asks, voice rough with lust, and Dick nods frantically. "Beg me. Beg me to allow you your release."
Dick's brow furrows and he makes a confused noise, turning his head far enough to try to get a look at Slade out of the corner of his eye.
Whatever Slade sees in Dick' expression makes him laugh. "Sorry, kid, that was just too easy. You can come but you do it like this or not at all."
Dick groans a disagreement, wanting a hand around his cock yesterday, but this isn't the first time Slade's said something like that, to allow him no stimulation but Slade's own movements, and that control always felt sexy. It feels...less sexy now, and Dick can only assume it's because of the gag.
Normally, Dick would be begging right now. He'd be saying how much he wants it, would be pleading with Slade to touch him or give him more, but that's been taken from him. He doesn't like it.
But he gets there eventually, the pleasure building until he's coming against his stomach and the sheet beneath him. Slade keeps fucking him, yanking him back against him by the hips with brutal force. Dick mewls as overstimulation starts to set in, leaving his nerves on fire and Slade's thrusts really too much, but Dick can't say anything, can't ask him to stop or goad him to just finish already—
Slade spills himself inside of Dick with a quiet groan and then leans down, draping himself over Dick's back. He presses a kiss to Dick's shoulder, and normally Dick likes this closeness after sex, but he can't joke about Slade not being light or ask him to pull out. He can do nothing but stay right there, helpless to Slade's whims, no choice in what happens.
Eventually Slade pulls himself up, pulling out of Dick and then climbing to his feet. Dick can feel the man's cum start to drip down his thighs, and normally he'd love and hate that in equal measure—love the feeling of being claimed, hate the consistency as it cools—but now he just hates it, because Slade is walking away.
Dick makes a protesting noise, eyes going wide with panic as he watches Slade walk towards the bedroom door. Dick wiggles onto his back, wincing at the soreness in his lower half, and begins preparing to heave himself into an upright position when Slade reappears, holding a wet washcloth.
The man cocks an eyebrow, amused, and then steps forward, once more climbing onto the bed. He throws a knee over Dick, straddling him and pinning him in place, and then uses the washcloth to clean off Dick's stomach.
When that's finished, Dick makes a noise for attention and Slade looks up at him curiously. Dick makes another sound, trying to sound demanding, and tosses his head to make it clear he wants the gag off.
Slade chuckles and starts to get off the bed. A panicked sound escapes Dick, because that is the absolute opposite thing Slade should be doing, but the man grabs ahold of him and pulls him into a seated position, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Slade," Dick tries to say, but it comes out as just another indistinguishable noise.
"Sh, sh, shh," Slade says, brushing his hand through Dick's hair. "You're alright, birdy. I'll take care of you. Just a little longer, come on, you can do it."
Dick makes a sound of disagreement, shaking his head frantically. He wants the gag out.
Slade's face morphs into a disappointed expression, and it hits Dick deeper than he'd like to admit. "Just a little longer," he says again. "You've been so good for me, little bird. So good like this. You don't want to ruin it by running your mouth, do you?"
Dick glares up at Slade, but still cringes at the idea of ruining anything. He hates that he always feels so vulnerable after sex, so uncertain and insecure. All he wants is for Slade to respect what he said before, that he could take the gag off whenever he wanted. He doesn't want to feel like he's...he's ruining anything for just wanting Slade to follow through on his promise.
"You'll be fine," Slade tells him, confidently enough that it has Dick faltering. "I've got you. Just a little while longer, okay? You're so good like this."
Dick swallows his anxiety and nods reluctantly. He really wants the gag off. The scene is over, and he didn't even want to wear the gag in the first place. He wants his voice back, the control that comes with having it. But with his hands bound—he truly is helpless to what Slade wants.
And Slade wouldn't...Slade wouldn't hurt him, right? Slade's never hurt him before, not when they're like this. So it's—he's just overreacting, then. Everything's fine.
"Good boy," Slade says approvingly. He pulls Dick to his feet and leads him to the bathroom, where the shower is already on and warmed.
Slade washes him like he usually does after one of their scenes, with the notable difference that Dick's wrists are tied behind his back, and thus he can't touch in return, still helpless to Slade's whims. Slade could—Slade could do absolutely anything to him right now, and Dick couldn't do a thing about it. Couldn't fight back, or even scream for help.
Dick reminds himself that that's just the anxiety talking, the anxiety and the shift of brain chemicals that happens after sex. It's fine, he's safe. He just has to let Slade take care of him, and then they'll remove the gag, and everything will go back to normal.
Slade shuts the water off when they're done and then dries them both off with a fluffy towel before leading him back to the bedroom. Dick watches as the man strips off the stained sheets and remakes the bed with the waiting clean ones, and then joins him there when he's beckoned.
He looks at Slade hopefully, expecting this to be when Slade finally removes the gag and releases his arms, but Slade doesn't. Instead the man pulls him to lie down, pulling him close and wrapping a strong arm around his middle.
Dick makes a loud, protesting sound, wiggling against Slade's grip, but he has no leverage in his bindings and Slade keeps him pinned against his chest easily, tangling their feet together as well to truly keep him in place.
A desperate, keening noise rips out of Dick's throat, and his eyes sting. He doesn't understand why Slade isn't letting him out. He doesn't—he just—
Slade simply shushes him and kisses the back of his head. "You're alright, little bird. You can do it for me, can't you? I want a night's rest without you yammering on. Everything's okay. Think of it as an experiment."
Dick shakes his head rapidly. No, no, no. This isn't okay, this is so far from okay.
He pushes against Slade with his bound hands, trying to get across how much he doesn't want this, but Slade brings his hand down hard on Dick's thigh in punishment, making Dick yelp at the unexpected sting.
"Go to sleep," Slade says, voice commanding.
Dick's heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins as the desperate need to fight fills him. He takes a slow breath in, making sure his lungs are full, and then he begins to shriek.
Slade's hand clamps around his throat instantly, cutting the sound off, which isn't quite the reaction Dick was going for, but he was after a reaction. He just needed Slade to see he's serious about this, that what's happening right now isn't okay. This is a partnership, they're supposed to agree on things before they do them. And this is absolutely not something Dick's okay with.
"Behave," Slade growls behind him, grip tightening in tandem. Dick gasps against it, no longer able to get air in.
Dick whines, high and pleading, twisting against Slade's grip.
"Behave," Slade says again. "Settle, boy, or I'll throw you in the bathroom for the night and deal with you tomorrow."
Dick freezes, eyes wide. He—he wouldn't, would he? Not like this, not tied up and gagged. Slade wouldn't do that to him, it's insane.
But he also thought Slade wouldn't do what he's doing now. Does he really want to learn how far Slade is willing to go?
One last time, Dick tries to say Slade's name. It comes out as nothing more than a pathetic noise, helpless and scared, and Dick hates it.
"You're fine," Slade tells him firmly, and releases his throat. Dick coughs, sucking in air around the ball gag. "Now be a good boy and do as you're told."
And then the room is silent, Slade settling in to go to sleep. But Dick is wide awake, body still thrumming with anxiety. He's never felt as helpless as he does in this moment, something that was supposed to be a safe situation suddenly turned into something nightmarish.
Things will be better in the morning, they have to be. Slade will let him out and say that this was all one big joke, and Dick will yell at him for being an insensitive, controlling asshole, and things will go back to normal. He just has to make it until morning.
Sleep doesn't come for a long time.