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Dick was bored. The first half of patrol had consisted of a long, boring string of petty crimes. It seemed like every pickpocket, mugger and car thief was out in force tonight. There had even been a tire thief, who reminded Dick of how Jason came to be his little brother.
Unlike Jason though, this thief had nearly peed his pants at the sight of Nightwing behind him. That was the problem with all of the criminals Dick had seen tonight. For all that they had been out in numbers, not a single one of them seemed actually up to getting in a fight with him. Dick shouldn’t complain, after all it meant his only injury was a small cut on his cheek where a mugger had thrown a woman’s purse at him while running away and the zipper’s oversized pull had lashed him as he caught it.
Dick paused on his favorite rooftop in Blüdhaven, the only skyscraper with a good view of the city not owned by Roland Desmond. He had picked up a burrito from his favorite Mexican place this side of town a few minutes ago, just before closing, and the smell had been torturing him the whole way here.
He had just taken his first bite when he saw it. A brief flash of orange in his periphery. It had been too fast to truly see what it was, but Dick knew. Deathstroke the Terminator was back in town, and he wanted Dick to know.
Their relationship was… odd. Which is to say, about half their fights ended with Dick stitching up a bullet hole, and half ended with them fucking on the ground wherever the fight ended. Dick would prefer more fucking, less blood loss, but he would take what he could get. What was basically a guarantee these days was Slade giving Dick a warning that he was in town.
Dick was about to take another bite before giving up on his burrito and chasing Slade when the unthinkable happened. A gunshot rang out through the streets of Blüdhaven. Normally this would be completely unremarkable for Blüdhaven, but not this time. Dick’s brain distantly registered that it was a sniper rifle, around a hundred yards to his left, the same direction Slade had gone. The rest of his brain was too focused on the burrito in his hands. What was left of it at least.
Salsa verde dripped over the foil wrapper and down his hands. Shredded cheese and chicken lay scattered along the rooftop to his right. Dick was pretty sure he could see the still folded over end of the tortilla resting against the low wall of the roof. Spray from the impact had left flecks of meat and cheese all over Dick’s front, and Dick knew he’d be smelling like burrito all week even after washing.
Slade had shot his burrito. Slade had shot his burrito. The mangled remains of the piece still in his hands looked back at him sadly. He dropped it to the ground and took off after Slade. It looked like his night had finally gotten interesting, though Dick wished it could have waited till he was done eating, his stomach was already rumbling.
He found the spot Slade had shot him from rather easily, the sniper rifle still there pointed towards the building he had been on. There was no sign of Slade though, and he growled in anger. The asshole had shot his burrito.
He didn’t find Slade that night. After an hour combing the rooftops for him, Dick sent Oracle a message about Slade’s presence, leaving out what was done to his burrito. Hopefully Babs could find something about why Slade was here while Dick searched for him on the ground. At least he knew Slade usually gave him an actual chance to stop him, so if he couldn’t find Slade yet there was a good possibility whatever hit he was in town for wasn’t going down tonight.
Dick got the call from Oracle an hour into his patrol the next night. She’d found the hit. Some minor gang leader that was trying to take over parts of the city he shouldn’t. Paying Deathstroke to kill him was probably overkill, but apparently someone wanted to make a point. Dick would probably have his hands full the next few days trying to figure out who paid Slade.
Dick headed straight to the location Oracle gave him for the gang’s headquarters, parkouring from building to building, pulling his grapple out for the gaps that even he couldn’t cross unaided. A few blocks out he spotted Slade, crouched on a roof observing the gang, the same sniper rifle from last night strapped to his back. Slade must have doubled back at some point, which infuriated Dick.
Dick came in with a kick aimed at Slade’s head. Slade dodged, just before he would have made contact, and Dick’s momentum almost carried him off the edge of the roof. He landed and pivoted into a new attack, another high kick.
Slade blocked and said with an audible smirk, “Well, someone’s feisty today.”
“You shot my burrito!” Dick yelled, punctuating every word with a punch or kick. “Why would you do that?” Dick continued, pouring his fury into his attacks. Usually Slade’s attacks didn’t faze him, they were practically his way of flirting, but something in the absurdness of shooting Dick’s burrito had struck a nerve. Destroying Dick’s hard-earned food was crossing a line.
“You were getting a little too comfortable kid. You needed reminding of just how dangerous I can be, who you’re getting into bed with,” Slade said coolly, kicking Dick in the ribs and sending him flying into the side of the rooftop entrance.
Dick stumbled to his feet, his newly bruised ribs protesting the action. “So you shot my burrito?” Dick asked, incredulous.
“Would you have preferred I shot you instead,” Slade asked, crowding Dick back against the wall in a way that would be far more threatening if it didn’t make Dick think of all the times Slade had pushed him into walls just like it during make out sessions and more.
“I’d prefer you not shoot at me just to prove that you’re good at it! News flash! I already know you’re dangerous! You’ve shot me enough times to prove that!” Dick shouted up at him. Dick ducked under Slade’s arm; he didn’t want to be distracted by his body’s reaction to have Slade so close to him while they were arguing.
“You shouldn’t feel comfortable sleeping with someone that regularly shoots you, kid,” Slade said, something gentle and a little sad in his voice, which didn’t match with the handgun he leveled at Dick’s chest. “This thing between us needs to end.”
“Wait… Are you breaking up with me? Is that it? You shot my burrito to get me to realize we should break up?” Dick was seething inside now. “No. No, you don’t get to do that.” He jumped full body at Slade, knocking the gun out of his hand with an eskrima stick as his knees hit Slade’s chest, and he grabbed the man’s mask, pulling it off.
Dick kissed Slade. It was hard, he was more than a little pissed right then. After a moment, Slade reciprocated, opening his mouth to Dick. Dick sucked Slade’s lower lip into his mouth and bit down nearly enough to draw blood. Slade growled his displeasure into Dicks mouth, but didn’t break the kiss. They continued like that, Dick biting and sucking at Slade’s mouth, pouring his frustration and horniness into the kiss in equal measure. Slade held Dick’s thighs so he didn’t fall to the ground, squeezing hard enough Dick was sure there’d be bruises in the morning. When Dick finally pulled away to breathe, he looked Slade in the eye. “Did you like that?”
“Of course, I did, that’s not the problem,” Slade responded, dropping Dick back to the ground, gently.
“Well, I liked it, and you liked it, so I don’t see the problem,” Dick said. He needed Slade to see how stupidly self-sacrificing he was being.
“I could kill you,” Slade stubbornly pointed out.
“But you won’t,” Dick insisted.
“You have a habit of getting in my way.”
“You have a habit of fucking me when I do.” Dick smiled at Slade, voice full of intent, “Why don’t we indulge that habit now?”