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Jason spots him right away, sitting in the back pew.
He doesn't allow Slade's presence to distract him, attention focused on the congregation currently hanging onto his every word. He was up until five in the morning just last night, editing this sermon until he was perfectly happy with it. Those who know him definitely have teased him about his near-obsessive need for his sermons to be as perfect as possible, but Jason's always been like that, he supposes; even in school—before he dropped out—he was always trying his best.
A lot is different between the person he was before his death and now, but that at least hasn't changed at all.
Slade sits quietly as he watches, knowing better to be disruptive after the incident a few months ago that had Jason yelling at him for a solid half hour. Technically, Slade shouldn't be in here at all during service, too much opportunity to be seen and possibly recognized, but he's blended into the background well today, despite his large size.
Jason doesn't know why he's here, but then again he never really does. Slade shows up randomly, no schedule Jason can ever figure out, no warning for when he's going to appear. Jason understands why—with all the people who want Slade dead, keeping as little people in the know about his plans is probably for the best—but that doesn't stop it from being exasperating.
Like right now, when he's quite busy and doesn't have time to entertain the other man.
Despite how it might, maybe, be good to see that no one's managed to kill him yet.
Jason takes his dear sweet time after the service is over, speaking with everyone who approaches him, offering all of the guidance he possibly can. He bids them all goodbye one by one, and only when everyone is gone—and the pews are checked for any lost belongings—does Jason make his way over to where Slade sits.
"Hey, kid," Slade greets in his oh-so-familiar low drawl, head tipping back to meet Jason's gaze from where he sits. "Nice speech."
Jason looks at him, unimpressed, but doesn't bother to correct that it wasn't a speech; Slade only said it to irritate him, after all, and Jason's found it's best to not humor any of Slade's attempts at poking fun, lest he simply encourage him.
Slade smiles nonetheless, crooked and far more attractive than Jason believes he has any right to be. The man is at least three times his age and infuriatingly looks barely a decade older, that stupid serum running through his veins making him age far slower than a regular human.
"What are you doing here, Slade?" Jason asks. It's a familiar question, one he's spoken countless times over the last few years, and he never gets a straight answer. Doesn't expect one now, either.
Sure enough, Slade says, "Thought I'd check out the new stained glass windows you put in," nodding towards the pulpit and the shining windows beyond it.
Jason looks at them too, a pleased smile tugging at his lips as he looks at the images depicted there. These had been a little expensive to get, but Jason's glad they splurged for them; the dingy, nearly colorless ones they'd had before had been disheartening, and now light shines through in technicolor, lighting up all who stand before God.
When he looks back to Slade, Slade is watching him, head tilted and a peculiar look on his face. Jason doesn't know its meaning, but he gave up on trying to understand Slade long ago.
"Finally found God, then?" Jason asks teasingly, and Slade snorts at the ridiculousness of such a statement. No, Slade Wilson is not a God-fearing man, and Jason would be concerned about mind control if Slade ever did try to partake.
"You done for the day?"
Jason shakes his head. "I have a youth group at three. We end at four, though."
Slade nods, seemingly satisfied, and then pushes to his feet. Even after years of knowing him, Jason has never quite adjusted to just how large Slade is; Jason himself isn't a wilting flower, standing tall at six-two and with more muscle than a priest usually does, but Slade completely dwarfs him like all of that means nothing.
Slade's absolutely a fan of it. Always gets a little smirk on his face when Jason has to lift his head to meet his gaze, or when they're pressed close and Jason can't help but be extremely aware of their difference.
"I'll see you then, kid," Slade says in a low rumble, and Jason suppresses the shiver that wants to run down his spine at the tone. He offers just a stiff nod in response, and there's a flash of Slade's teeth before the man turns and heads for the door, slipping out into the street.
Jason can feel his own inattentiveness during the group, and he is thoroughly exasperated with himself for it. These are kids looking for guidance, who are counting on Jason to teach them about God's love, and all he can think about is the dangerous mercenary/pirate waiting out there somewhere, possibly watching, possibly not.
It's ridiculous, and irritating. All the more so because he's sure Slade knows what effect he's having.
The hour drags on, and just to be obstinate Jason stays after longer than he usually would, cleaning up the room to perfection even though it's not really his job. Only then does he close up and make his way to his quarters, walking at a nice slow stroll.
Not surprising in the slightest, Slade has already made himself at home. Jason doesn't bother wondering how Slade got in—the man has proven his ability to pick a lock in the past—just gives him a look for not only entering without permission but also sitting on his bed, legs extended and back against the wall as he reads a book from Jason's shelves.
"Feeling good about yourself?" Slade asks, amused, and Jason nods, unashamed at having been called out for purposefully taking a while.
"Yes, actually. Boots off the bed, Slade."
Slade's eye twitches like he was going to roll it, but he does follow the instruction, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and planting his feet on the ground. His gaze locks onto Jason's face, heavy and intense, and Jason specifically does not swallow or give any outer reaction to having Slade's entire focus on him like that.
Slade knows, though. The asshole always knows, whether that's because Jason's pulse rose a few notches or he noticed some infinitesimal growth in his pupils or whatever the fuck else that serum of his grants him the ability to do. Cheating, if you ask Jason. Not that Slade would consider that an insult, of course.
"C'm'ere, kid," Slade says, and Jason doesn't budge, folding his arms across his chest and cocking an eyebrow.
"You know I have shit to do that doesn't involve you?" he says. "A whole life, in fact. Just because you popped up randomly doesn't mean I'm going to set aside everything."
Slade smiles, and doesn't mention that Jason told him he'd be done at four, and that was absolutely all the invitation he needed.
Slade gets to his feet and strolls across the room, closing the distance between them since Jason won't. His large hands settle on Jason's waist, tugging him closer, thumbs rubbing slow circles that Jason can feel even through the thick fabric of his cassock. The touch has Jason's heart beating a little faster, but he raises his chin and offers Slade an indifferent expression that only serves to bring a smirk to the other man's face.
"Always have to be so stubborn, don't you?" Slade asks in a low murmur. He leans in, lips brushing Jason's temple, making him shiver. "Well. At least until I get you on your back."
"What are you doing in Gotham?" Jason asks as levelly as he can manage, trying to keep his head about him and ignore Slade's words. "This city's hard off enough as it is—we don't need you causing any more problems."
Slade chuckles, using his grip on Jason's hips to pull him flush against his front. "I'm not here to mess with anything, don't worry. Who could resist this dingy little church of yours?"
Jason scowls at him. He opens his mouth to shoot back something scathing, but Slade doesn't give him the opportunity, bending to capture his lips in a searing kiss that takes Jason's breath away. He can't help but kiss back, one hand lifting to grab the back of Slade's neck, using the grip to leverage himself up a little, lining their bodies together.
Slade gives a pleased hum at that, tugging Jason's bottom lip between his teeth and then beginning to walk the pair of them back towards the bed. Jason lets himself be pulled along, fingers drifting to grab at Slade's shirt and tug it upward. The kiss breaks momentarily so Slade can throw his shirt somewhere across the room, and then in the next moment Slade's hands are under his ass and lifting him up, giving him no room to breathe before they're kissing again.
Jason gives as good as he gets, raking his nails along Slade's shoulders as he wraps his legs tightly around the man's waist, kissing him deeply. The air goes out of him in a rush when his back hits the mattress, Slade's considerable weight bearing down on him and pinning him in place.
Jason shudders, arousal impossible to ignore now.
Once upon a time, he would've hated the feeling of anyone having this kind of power over him, of being able to pin him in place, helpless to their whims. But back then he was also nothing more than a desperate druggie, and then an even more desperate cult member. He was constantly giving up his power to substances or to others, or having control ripped away from him.
After he came back to life, after he got that second chance—giving up control wasn't so scary anymore. He saw the good in the world. He saw the good in God's grace. And what better higher power to have than the creator Himself?
Slade, though. Slade doesn't care if there's something after death, or if there are beings who created the world and maybe he should hold reverence for. Slade believes in what he can see, and doesn't have time for what he would call 'flights of fancy'. His higher power is himself; he puts his faith in his own abilities, and sometimes in the abilities of others.
For a brief period of time while Jason is with Slade, just for the few hours they ever spend together, Jason finds that he doesn't much mind giving up control to someone other than God. At least for a little while.
Slade kisses a line down his jaw and neck, teeth tugging at the collar of his cassock when he reaches it. His hand lifts, and he pulls the white clerical collar free of where it sits, twirling it briefly between his fingers before he brings it to Jason's mouth and presses it between his teeth.
Jason's nostrils flare, the collar digging into the corners of his mouth, the material firm between his teeth. He doesn't spit it out, and Slade's heavy-lidded look of approval sends a bolt of heat running down his spine.
Slade flicks open the buttons of his cassock one by one, mouth trailing behind his hands as Jason's chest and stomach are slowly revealed. Jason's muscles contract as Slade's warm breath washes over them, flexing even further when Slade's tongue darts out to lick. It flicks over Jason's nipples, making him gasp and arch a little, and he hears Slade give a low, pleased chuckle.
"Just as I said," Slade says, almost too quiet to hear, and if Jason didn't already have something in his mouth he'd tell the other man to shut up and hurry the fuck up.
Slade takes his dear sweet time, slowly pulling off the cassock completely and then dragging Jason's underwear down his thighs. His eye slides up and down Jason's naked form, lust clear, and Jason gives something of a grin in reply, barely more than a baring of his teeth.
Slade takes hold of his wrists, grip tight as he guides Jason's arms up until his fingers press up against his headboard. "Hold," Slade orders, and Jason does it, hands wrapping around the sturdy metal bars.
Satisfied that Jason's staying in place, Slade sits up on his knees, surveying Jason like he's deciding the best thing to do to him first. His fingers trail along Jason's sides, calloused from handling weapons longer than Jason's even been alive. It draws a shudder out of him, and Slade's lips quirk upward.
It isn't something that should turn him on. And when not in bed, Jason does find Slade's profession to be an awful one, especially after all Jason's been through to leave a life like that behind. But when it's just the two of them here...Jason likes having all that power hanging over him. He likes the danger, likes to be held by hands that often hold others' lives in them. He likes it when Slade reminds him of his superhuman skills, when he proves just how much more he is.
And Slade is certainly never one to avoid showing off.
Right now, though, he goes for a different kind of showing off. He slides back slightly, and his head dips, and then Jason lets out a moan as Slade's mouth wraps around his cock. His hips flex upward to push deeper into the wet heat, but Slade's hands land on his hips and pin them to the bed effortlessly, a smirk lighting up his eye as he slowly moves his mouth along Jason's cock, taking him deeper centimeter by centimeter before pulling back just as agonizingly slowly.
Jason groans in frustration, and for a few moments it seems like Slade is going to ignore him completely, but then his tongue begins sliding blessedly along the underside of his cock, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Jason's teeth dig even harder into the collar, sure to leave deep imprints, and a strange sort of arousal flames in his gut at the idea of wearing it out into the main body of the church, bearing the signs of their carnal act.
"Slade," Jason moans, the word muddled by the obstruction in his mouth, and Slade hums in response, a sensation that has Jason cursing. "God," he says, and then winces immediately at taking the Lord's name in vain.
Slade pulls off his cock with a wet pop—ignoring Jason's frustrated whine—and smirks at him, head cocking where it sits obscenely between his thighs, Jason's cock pressed against his cheek.
"Careful," Slade chides. "Unless you've decided to assign me a new name, I think that's not something you're supposed to be saying, Father."
Jason shudders at hearing his title said in that tone by this man, hands tightening around the bars of the headboard in an effort to control himself. Slade looks like the cat that caught the canary at that reaction, and he climbs back up Jason's body, biting and licking at what feels like every available inch of skin until Jason is a shaking, shivering mess beneath him.
He's always been a fan of a little bit of teeth, and Slade is definitely taking advantage of that knowledge.
"What would you dear fellow priests say," Slade murmurs, low and dangerous, when they're face to face again. The rough material of his jeans is almost too much against Jason's bare legs, and faintly he notes that Slade also didn't remove his boots, the pair of them right back up on the bed. "If they knew what you were doing right now? If they knew you were bringing the cloth into it?"
Well, they'd certainly frown upon it all. Hell, they might even tell him this is a thing that would send him to Hell, and he's not quite sure if they're wrong or not. He thinks maybe he should be ashamed of that, and sometimes he is, when it's just him alone with his intrusive thoughts, but right now he really just wants Slade's mouth back on his cock.
By some horrible, cruel twist of fate—or his punishment for bringing the Lord into this—there's a knock on the door then.
Slade goes still for a moment, and then a shark's grin takes over his features. Jason's eyes flare with panic before the other man even does anything, because he knows something is coming. Sure enough, a calloused hand grips his cock, stroking with the expert skill of someone who knows Jason's body and just what he likes.
Jason nearly bites clean through the collar and through his own tongue in an effort to keep down the moan that wants to escape, eyes squeezing shut.
"Father Todd?" a voice calls from the other side of the door, and Jason distantly recognizes it as Father Williamson, though why that has any importance escapes him as Slade's other hand begins to play with his balls and then slip lower, a finger that at some point has gotten slick with lube pressing at his entrance.
"Are you in there?" Father Williamson continues, as Slade pushes his finger inside, and Jason chokes, a tremor running through his body. His hands almost release from the bars, but a look from Slade has him forcing himself to stay in the position he'd been placed.
"Shh," Slade whispers as he works his finger in, pushing it slow and deep, reaching far with how big his hand is. "You don't want him to hear you, do you? Unless you'd like him to know what you get up to with the big bad Deathstroke..."
His finger fucks in hard, suddenly, and Jason gives a short whine before he's able to cut the sound off completely. Slade smirks.
It's a bluff; Slade doesn't want this thing between them public any more than Jason does, and probably for a million more reasons. He just really enjoys messing with Jason, because he's an asshole like that.
An asshole who is making it seriously damn hard to concentrate, both hand working to scatter Jason's thoughts in a million different directions.
Thankfully, blessedly, Jason hears the sound of footsteps walking away, Father Williamson apparently having decided that Jason isn't home at the moment. Thank G—fuck. Thank fuck.
Another finger enters him, and Jason rocks into them, letting them press in deeper, eyelids fluttering. It's almost too much, dealing with Slade's hand still around his cock as the other stretches him open, preparing him to take Slade's considerable girth.
Jason's thighs spread further apart unconsciously, imagining what it will be like once Slade finally stops teasing him.
"That's it, gorgeous," Slade purrs. "Open wide for me."
Jason's heart stutters at the compliment, and he whines in protest when Slade's hand leaves his cock, only for his breath to catch when that hand instead grabs his thigh and hikes his hips up, effortlessly lifting Jason's bottom half into the air and exposing him to the room. Jason's face flames, and then gets even hotter when Slade's gaze settles on his hole, watching his own fingers fuck in and out.
The feeling of the fingers sliding out is a familiar but still strange sensation, but Jason has barely any time to give it a thought before Slade is opening his pants and pulling out his cock, stroking himself a few times with a lubed hand before he lines up.
Their eyes lock together with burning intensity as Slade presses inside, and Jason groans, pleasure lighting up his spine at the delicious burn, the sudden fullness as Slade pushes until he's fully sheathed in Jason's ass, his balls against Jason's cheeks, Jason's thighs spread wide around him.
Without further ado, Slade draws back and then snaps his hips forward, fucking into Jason hard and fast like they both like. Jason moans, loud and long, no longer caring if there's somewhere nearby to hear him. He rocks his hips up to meet each of Slade's thrusts, enjoying the way Slade's fingers bite into his thigh, tight enough to surely leave deep bruises after he's gone.
Jason's cock bobs against his stomach on every thrust, Slade's balls slapping against his ass, and the noises coming from their joined bodies are enough to make Jason's face get even redder. Slade grins at him, leaning down to drag his tongue over Jason's lips and then bite at his neck, digging in his teeth to leave his mark behind.
The collar of his cassock will cover them all, but it will press tightly enough that Jason will surely feel them every moment of the day.
Slade's other hand wraps around his cock once more, and that's all it takes to send Jason right over the edge, coming on his stomach and chest, some even hitting his neck. Slade gives an animalistic growl at that, snapping his hips forward again and again, hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall.
It's almost too much to take, but Jason feels a thread of satisfaction run through him as he looks at Slade losing control above him. It's a heady thing, to make such a perfectly controlled individual feel this way, lose it like this. Jason bears the building overstimulation easily just to watch Slade's face, the sweat dripping down his forehead as he grinds his hips in deep one last time, coming with a low moan.
The only sound in the room is their combined panting as they come down. Slade is a solid weight on top of him, heavy enough to strain his breathing a little, but worth it for how surrounded—and maybe safe—Jason feels.
But soon enough Slade picks himself up onto his elbows, slowly pulling back until his cock slips free of Jason's ass. For a moment, Jason thinks he's going to get up and leave, but then Slade collapses onto his back by Jason's side, one arm flung up above his head.
Slade glances over at him, eyes flicking up and down his form almost casually before reaching over and tugging the clerical collar out from between Jason's teeth. The man smirks at it for a moment, twisting it between his fingers, and then drops it into the pool of cum on Jason's stomach.
"You can let go," Slade says, amused, and Jason's fingers release from the headboard. They ache from how hard he'd been gripping, and he flexes them to get out some of the tension. One corner of his mouth turns up when Slade takes them in his own, massaging them as expertly as he does everything else.
Jason lets himself float, soothed by Slade's firm and pleasurable touch, the warm press of him close against Jason's side. The drying cum is an uncomfortable sensation, and the collar sitting in it makes some level of embarrassment flare, but he can't bring himself to truly care about any of it.
"Are you staying?" Jason asks as he lets his eyes slip shut, drifting towards sleep.
There's silence in response, and so Jason takes that for all the answer he needs; Slade rarely stays after one of their trysts, and it's not like Jason expects him to. They fuck, that's all. Fucking doesn't require any pleasantries afterwards, or promises of staying the night.
"I can until the morning," comes the surprising reply, quiet enough that Jason almost misses it completely. "I have to head out then." A pause, and then, "I found a lead on where Rose is. Paris. My crew and I leave early tomorrow."
Jason hums, but doesn't press. Slade offering up details of his life is very rare—especially in regards to his children—and he doesn't want to spook him. Even though the idea of Slade going to Aquaman's territory causes anxiety to tighten Jason's chest, a lump thick in his throat.
"Tomorrow works," Jason agrees, and can't help the warm feeling that glows in his chest when one of Slade's arms settles across his middle.