Chapter Text
Dick woke with a dry mouth, naked and sticky. Bat-honed instincts urged him to case the unfamiliar room, but his sleep crusted eyes protested opening. He was on a ship—the steady rocking a dead giveaway—but he struggled past that. The room reeked of his heat, the harsh chemical note prevalent even now.
He sniffed his armpit. No trace of Scorch soured his scent, but it left him with another predicament. He was in an unknown location with no scent blocker. Not that there was any hiding his secondary gender from his captors, but his unblocked scent caused more vulnerability than his unclothed state.
Bruce instilled early for everyone to wear scent blockers. Circumventing bigots was a huge plus, but the biggest perk was they blocked the many tells that came with an unmitigated scent. The best control in the world meant jackshit next to someone with a sensitive nose. It spelled disaster any time someone had to go undercover.
A pitcher of water was askew on a shelf near the door. Actually, several pitchers, water either drank or spilled, and some trays scattered across the floor, shifting with the sea. Judging from the number, he’d been here for several days.
He drank the water. If it was drugged, he was screwed anyway. He ignored his internal Bruce lecturing voice. No one joined him for his heat, best he could tell, which—flood of relief aside—meant his captors were either rescuers or playing elaborate mind games. With the enemies Dick made or inherited from Bruce, the second option was as viable as the first.
Alright, debrief. His hunt for Milton, a crew member Harley didn’t remember but Ivy helpfully told him between blows jumped off at a Riddler port weeks ago, went to the backburner as the Scorch trail flared up. Slade refused to give any details, but Dick dug around the island Maxwell docked at for a few days until he found likely Scorch drug runners. After sending a message to Oracle—he wasn’t entirely impulsive—he stowed away on the drug runners’ ship and busted out on their island with no one the wiser. He would’ve remained undetected if it weren’t for the bad luck of a cracked Scorch cannister and enforcements arriving to the island’s camp quicker than expected when a team failed to report in.
Queue a fight Dick could have handled even with the whiff of Scorch dulling his senses, but the Scorch drug runners weren’t complete morons. One noticed Dick was woozy and blasted Scorch directly to his face.
And that was when everything grew fuzzy. He remembered fighting and the overwhelming stench of horny alphas and… he got away somehow? Not that he doubted his abilities, but high off his ass and starting his heat wasn’t the best condition to fight in. Dick patted himself. Besides some bruises and minor cuts, he wasn’t even injured.
He struggled to see a scenario that ended with Dick unscathed in an unknown friendly vessel when ending up in unknown enemy vessel was so much more likely. He hugged a pillow to his chest. Heats left him feeling raw, but the unknowns and aftereffects of Scorch left him disorientated. He craved any familiarity. He needed this ship to be an ally like a Titan or one of his siblings. Hell, he’d even take Bruce. But everyone was spread wide and he didn’t know anyone in Slade’s territory.
He dropped his head against his knees and breathed. The smoky alpha scent soothed him—fucking omega instincts—but was faint enough to reassure Dick said alpha hadn’t been in this room since Dick started his heat. He sniffed again. The scent scratched like an itch as it curled around him. Dick had to shake himself out of lulled omega contentment. Alpha scents rarely affected him like this. He picked out nice scents as much as the next guy, but scents alone never had this much of a chokehold.
But—the itch tickled—he knew that scent. He sniffed deeply and the smoke intertwined with his caramel. His inner omega purred, which he ignored. Dick almost hadn’t noticed he smelled faintly of an alpha under his oppressive heat stink and the unfamiliar Scorch chemicals. The fact the scent lingered on his skin at all meant the alpha must have scented him. What alpha scented an omega in heat and locked him in their room? The answers veered unpleasant, but the smoky scent kept him from panicking.
Now to determine if this was Stockholm Syndrome or if he knew the owner. The more he sniffed, the more he was confident he knew this alpha before his Scorch-induced heat. The more an alpha took shape in his head. The more the smoke mixed with gunpowder and the thrill of danger. The more the alpha had a single eye, white hair, and an infuriating smirk.
Dick flailed. He was in Slade’s room on the Deathstroke. He examined the room in alarm, spying several versions of Slade’s signature coat in the corner and swords Slade claimed as souvenirs from his duels and battles. Dick’s blades when he first ventured with the Teen Titans gleamed near the bottom. Slade took them after beating Dick soundly.
Dick’s panic did not magically solidify the fuzziness leftover from the Scorch. The how and when of Slade’s involvement remained blank. He and Slade have been on opposite ends of battles often enough, but with the intent to kill or bring in? Not for a while. There were worse than the Deathstroke crew to contend with and Dick was a fan of carving out alliances or truces where he could.
Not that he counted Slade as an ally. He couldn’t picture the pirate captain swooping in to save Dick from his own stupidity. Slade didn’t gain anything from that. Unless he planned to ransom him to Bruce? That’d almost be nostalgic.
Did the Scorch drug runners capture Dick and sell him to Slade? It wasn’t like that small island was near any trade route. Though Slade was hunting the Scorch manufacturers…
A knock had Dick wrapping an orange blanket—how he didn’t clock this was Slade’s room sooner showed how much the drugged heat affected him—and snatching one of the swords off the wall.
Angelica poked her head in, unbothered by the naked steel and mostly naked bounty hunter. “Heard your heat broke.”
“Why am I here?” Dick asked.
“Why do you think?” Angelica asked. Dick’s scent spiked with fear and he despised the lack of scent blockers. He’d need to meditate until he found more. He hated meditation. “We came to Manatee Bay to ruin Scorch production and heard an omega fighting. We were saving that omega even before we knew it was you. We got you to the ship and in Slade’s cabin alone and now we’re here.” He appreciated her matter-of-fact tone. “Now, Slade splurges on the finer things in life and has a connecting washroom. He also values his privacy so crew can fill his tub without entering the bedroom. Wait in here if you want, but there should be a fresh hot bath ready in ten minutes.”
Dick was suddenly very aware of how much he and the room reeked. Angelica, despite her sensitive nose, hardly reacted. “That’d be—yeah awesome. Thanks.”
Angelica gave him an inscrutable look then left, the shut door muffling her shouted orders.
Dick emerged a new person, clean with somehow still hot water? Slade’s washroom alone was the most convincing argument to take up piracy. Bounties were rarely enough to splurge on a self-heating bathtub after repairs and supply runs.
The smoky scent of Slade’s clothes enveloped him and made his omega purr. Luckily, his audible purr was in the washroom so he could be mortified in private. Despite Angelica leaving out borrowed clothes because Dick’s were disgusting, it was too close to an alpha providing for his omega. Dick limited his observations of the clothes to the material—good quality—and size—large even with a belt and the legs rolled up—and ignored potential implications.
He needed something to get his mind off Slade, which was difficult when he stepped back into his room. The bedroom door was wide open and all linens were stripped. The room was cleaner but still reeked. A distraction in the form of Rose heaved a sigh as soon as he appeared.
“Let’s go to my room. I can’t stand here much longer, but we need to talk.”
Dick scowled as his concern—and then annoyance—briefly leaked through his scent. How did people function without scent blockers? Omega noses were better at picking up nuances, but even a congested alpha picked up on strong emotions.
He followed the beta out the door, schooling his face as he passed crew members who could smell remnants of his heat. Dick feared the embarrassment would be a permanent scent fixture this trip.
No one addressed them and Dick was too relieved to question why.
Rose shut her door behind them. “Do you want me to start with how I don’t care you’re an omega or the bad news?”
Dick groaned. “Bad news.”
“Ok, cool.” Rose hesitated. “I said bad news, but it’s not bad bad. Like no one was maimed or killed by you or anything. You were out of it when we found you and slashed at me a few times, but no harm done.”
Dick tensed. Bruce trained Dick until he reacted without thinking. Partially because Bruce was obsessive, but also because his enemies loved playing with chemicals so the ability to fight and evade on instinct was invaluable. Combine Bruce’s training with the fight or flight instincts of going into heat around unfamiliar, hostile alphas spelled disaster. Dick wasn’t in the state to distinguish friend from foe.
“You didn’t hurt anyone important!” Rose said, eyes wide at Dick’s clear panic despite his neutral face. “Maybe injured some of the drug runners, but we killed them so comparatively…” Rose wiggled her hand. “The bad news, which again, isn’t the worst. Really, it’s instinctive so the crew gets it and I,” Rose fought to keep a straight face, “uh, also get it. I guess.”
Rose rambled too much right now. The what ifs progressively worsened and her insistence of it not being ‘bad bad’ still alarming. “Rose, spit it out.”
“You latched onto Dad and clearly wanted to fuck him.” Rose struggled to maintain eye contact before giving up to pick her nails. Dick’s face drained. “But again, you were in an aggressive, drug-induced heat. No one holds it against you and Dad didn’t try anything. Me and Angelica would’ve stopped that immediately. He’s been, well not normal because he’s been on a warpath since your heat started, but he’s pragmatic. He knows it didn’t mean anything.”
Slade, of all people. The mortification was overwhelming. His instincts betrayed him. At best, he was embarrassingly clingy. At worst, Slade new exactly how worthy his omega found him. Dick meant to keep that shoved deep, deep down.
Rose risked a glance. “It didn’t mean anything, right?”
Yeah, he wouldn’t touch that with the most people, but definitely not with the object of his desire’s daughter. Dick groaned. “This is humiliating.”
“It’s…” Rose considered and shrugged off the brief contemplation to soften the blow. “Yeah, a bit.”
Dick was a renowned bounty hunter, able to hold his own against the deadliest and come out on top. He was the first trained by the Bat. The first to lead the Teen Titans and now Titans. Strategy was as easy as breathing.
Yet nothing came to mind on except launching himself into the ocean and hoping Garth took mercy.
“Can I hide here?”
Rose looked at him pityingly. “No. Crew would talk and Dad would get weird.”
Weird as in protect his daughter’s honor or weird as in jealous? Alpha, his inner omega demanded, which was unhelpful on so many levels. Going back to not touching that. Dick blamed post-heat hormones. At least the conversation shift, though obvious, was something anyone in Dick’s position would want to know.
“Where are we going?” A neutral port would be ideal and if no passage to Blud was available, most ships ended up in Gotham.
“Bludhaven.”
Not a neutral port at all, though the unhinged level of crime kept the Navy’s protection more in name than practice. Blud involved Slade either going through Harley and Croc’s territories or a shortcut through Joker’s but Slade was not one to provoke a fight for no reason. And passage to an incredibly out of his way destination for a bounty hunter was not a reason.
Slade going to Dick’s home was…unexpected. He wanted to slink off to a dark corner, but needed to see what Slade expected in return. That would at least get them back on familiar ground.
And give Dick insight on how affected or not Slade was.
“I need to talk to Slade when he has a moment.” Dick grimaced at her raised eyebrows. “Can you help?”
Rose studied him then shrugged. “I doubt he’s doing anything right now. Let’s go.”
Dick’s stomach dropped even though this was what he wanted. He followed Rose, wondering if the trepidation would disappear the more he ignored it.
Pirate crews were a hardy bunch. Scarred and hungry for money, revenge, freedom, or a combo of the three. Not ones to be easily cowed. Currently, the Deathstroke crew refused to catch the eye of their pacing captain and flinched when he loomed too close. Slade, one of the deadliest pirate captains in the seven seas, nitpicked the crew swabbing the deck. He was not a laidback person, but this level of intensity was usually reserved for sensitive operations or tense battles. The lack of said operation or battle to distract Slade made him all the harsher the past few days. Since he-who-must-not-be-named came abroad.
Norris, the poor man, was the first and last unfortunate soul to mention Grayson in Slade’s hearing. Some benign question about what to serve because the bounty hunter hadn’t touched food yet. Slade interpreted that as either Norris taking over providing for the omega or an insult to Grayson because the bosun was nearly sent overboard. The crew talking about Grayson’s finer features—more than before Grayson’s revealed omega status—ceased overnight. No one dared even allude to Grayson for fear of a perceived slight. Norris was punished enough since Slade declared him his new sparring partner. Wintergreen snuck Norris a soothing balm for his bruises after the first day.
Wintergreen had safely been doing inventory in his med room this morning, a decent enough excuse to stay out of Slade’s warpath, but Angelica was needed elsewhere. As his oldest crew members and theoretically the ones most likely to rein Slade in, they agreed to take turns remaining on deck when Slade was topside. Wintergreen had yet to rein Slade in their entire time knowing each other so he wasn’t optimistic about managing it now.
A whiff of caramel sent pirates scrambling from the door as if it was primed to explode. If Slade reacted violently to people talking about Grayson, no one wanted to discover how he acted towards people near the bounty hunter. Wintergreen reluctantly straightened, the likelihood for an intervention growing.
Slade appeared by the helm looking for all the world like a captain who had more important tasks than micromanaging cleaning. He brought a telescope to his eye, neatly blocking Wintergreen’s incredulous stare. It was rare of Slade to put on such an obvious show.
Then Grayson stepped on the deck behind Rose and all bets were off. Grayson was in the captain’s clothes, after using the captain’s soap and shampoo, and spending so long mixing their scents, not even the bath could fully wash it away. All to say if it was obvious to Wintergreen who swore making medicines dulled his nose, Slade was going crazy.
Slade lowered the telescope to gawk. A subtle gawk mostly hidden by the telescope, but still a gawk. Slade’s black shirt hung wide on Grayson, exposing more of his chest than typical, and the rolled-up pants should look ridiculous but didn’t. Likely due to Grayson’s unbreakable confidence. Wintergreen sniffed. Or not so unbreakable.
A nervous omega approached. Scent blockers really hid so much before. The bounty hunter was floundering.
Slade’s hand spasmed and Wintergreen wished for Angelica. Not that the captain would harm a hair on the omega he spent days growling over, but Angelica was better equipped to handle this side of Slade. Instead of possessively grabbing Grayson and rubbing his face against the bounty hunter’s neck or giving into a number of alpha instincts, Slade returned the telescope to his eye and looked at nothing.
Grayson followed Rose, warily watching Slade who continued to ignore their approach. At least Grayson’s nerves didn’t worsen as he approached, each step measured.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sea and the crew working.
Rose frowned between a quiet Grayson and studiously ignoring them Slade. An odd expression took over before she cleared her throat.
“Hey, Dad,” she said. “Dick wanted to talk to you.”
Wintergreen had seen Grayson laughing while a ship burned around him. Seen him almost bored as he taunted a pirate captain and dodged blades. Seen him in so many deadly situations. This was the first time the bounty hunter looked alarmed.
“About business,” Grayson said. “Rose told me you’re heading to Bludhaven.”
Which was a pain and a half. No where near any planned stops and while Harley didn’t give a shit when Deathstroke ships sailed through, Croc definitely did. Not that anyone grumbled in earshot of Slade. At least their navigator scoured maps to find something worthwhile after they dropped off the bounty hunter.
Slade deigned to lower his telescope. “Is that not amendable?”
Slade tendency to make things sound like a threat went tenfold when he was on edge. Grayson’s knack of shoving Slade to the edge was never so effective as now. Grayson, in an act that defied every other interaction with Slade, chewed his bottom lip. Wintergreen didn’t even know a Bat had tells.
“It is,” Grayson said. “I wanted to discuss payment.”
“Nothing is required,” Slade said as if that was normal part of his vocabulary. Wintergreen schooled his face. Rose very much did not.
Grayson was openly wary. “I insist.”
“You off my ship is payment enough,” Slade said, surprisingly calm when Wintergreen knew his inner alpha rebelled at Grayson not blindly accepting the passage. The odds of Slade rationalizing that he provided haven for Grayson the entirety of his heat was low.
“Regardless,” Grayson said. “I don’t have any money on me but I can work to help cover my passage.”
“You don’t need to work.” Slade sounded stiffer.
“And you don’t need to take me to Blud.” For the first time, Grayson sounded close to his normal self. “Work with me, Slade. What do you want?”
The captain’s shirt billowed on Grayson’s slimmer frame. His blue eyes cut into Slade as he finally ripped his gaze away from the rigging, ocean, and anything that wasn’t the captain. A look realistically shouldn’t affect anyone that much, but Slade’s knuckles whitened around the telescope. It was a miracle the device didn’t bust. A hint of his frustration tickled Wintergreen’s nose so he could only image the noseful the omega received. Grayson’s face was undiscernible.
The captain huffed. “You can work. Wintergreen will get you sorted.”
Which sounded like a headache when Slade inevitably got grumpy on how near or far the omega was from him. Wintergreen grunted. Slade stomped off, leaving a studiously neutral Grayson and baffled Rose.
Dick played with a random dagger he uncovered while reorganizing cargo under Angelica’s watchful eye. Apparently, the Deathstroke sparring sessions included bounty hunters who accosted their captain. The slim blade flipped between his fingers. Dick, unsurprisingly, would have preferred to continue his menial tasks and keep out of Slade’s way until they reached Bludhaven in ten days if the weather and passing ships gave them no trouble.
A long ten days.
Wintergreen shoved him at Angelica as soon as they crossed paths, scurrying away as if Dick had the plague. The crew so far have followed suit. They had no idea how to treat Dick, opting to pretend he didn’t exist besides the minimum communication required when working side by side. What made it worse was he knew they generally didn’t treat omegas as if they weaker or fragile. This wide berth was entirely due to his actions.
Which Dick could deal with. He definitely wasn’t spiraling over how he acted around Slade when Scorched. Angelica, God love her, treated him the same and largely left him be until now. Because forcing him on deck for training clearly made more sense than letting him help the essential crew keeping the ship sailing.
The gathered crew had yet to do anything so Dick assumed they were waiting for Slade.
Maybe he should head towards the railing and lurk behind the wider crew members. He wanted to wait for Rose, but his friend had yet to appear.
“The Freaks are undisciplined,” a pirate who overcompensated his short stature with volume said. Dick didn’t hear the beginning of their conversation but could guess where this was going. “His tactics worked on them, but wouldn’t on us. We’re better fighters.”
“Harley is insane and Ivy is lethal,” another pirate said, sun gleaming off his bald head. The duo inched towards Dick as they talked, not making much effort to be subtle. They carefully didn’t look his way. “I’m happy to chuck you at them next time we brawl if you’re that cocky.”
“I’m talking about their crew, not the captains,” the short pirate said.
“I agree with that then,” the bald pirate said. “Her crazies have nothing on us.”
The short pirate spat on the deck. A pirate who swabbed the deck at least four times that Dick saw swore at him. The duo turned to Dick and the rest of the crew quieted as if holding their breath. Angelica and Wintergreen chatted to the side, uncaring.
Dick balanced the dagger on his finger.
“So, what’d you do when you fought off the Freaks?” the short pirate asked. “Cause we know the merchants didn’t help you much.”
“They had guns and ammo. Provided some cover.” Only semi-effective since Dick ensured they didn’t aim anywhere close to where he planned to land. He didn’t see them touch their guns before Harley’s attack so he went on the assumption they were amateurs when he gave orders.
“But what did you do?”
The crew leaned forward and something in Dick loosened.
So much about this situation was abnormal. The rescue alone put him in uncharted territory. A forced heat and his embarrassing clinginess to Slade added mortifying layers. But storyteller? That was a familiar role.
“Me? I saved the day, of course.” Dick flipped the dagger again between his fingers. “Merchant vessels aren’t known for their defense capabilities and Central City merchants even less so.”
“Cheap bastards,” the bald pirate said. “Almost makes it not worth pillaging them.”
The short pirate spat again—over the railing this time.
“And during my transport, I knew their fighting prowess left a lot to be desired. They had guns, sure, but they sat dusty till that day,” Dick said. “So, I devised a plan. They aim at the bow and stern while I swing across to keep the gunners occupied so they couldn’t get more shots off. A cannon blast that close would sink us.
“It was easy enough to cause some chaos during that fight. A cut rope here, a loose cannon there, a couple of smoke bombs. Other Freaks joined the fray by then, but it was too late. Everyone was distracted while we steered towards shore. Because while merchant vessels don’t have the firepower, the hull is much shorter.” Captain Maxwell, for all his ineptitude, was a competent navigator and knew how close to shore they could weave. “When Harley’s ship ran aground, we were still floating fine. Then it was a simple jump across for me and we were sailing free.”
And one glitter bomb container set on fire, but that felt a bit violent to share when Slade and Harley were allies. It looked like most of the glitter bombs fell into the ocean—and some thrown towards the merchant vessel and deflected—so no harm done. Or at least a forgivable amount of harm done according to Harley, who cackled. Ivy looked pissed.
“Could be a good exercise, Grayson.” Angelica cut through the pirate chatter and, once again, they fell silent. “Running through that strategy, but against the Deathstrokes.”
Angelica bullying him up here made sense. What was the point of having a bounty hunter onboard if the crew couldn’t train against him and become even more slippery prey? At least this fell in line with a favor he expected Slade to demand. Instead of nothing because instead of sticking with the script, Slade chose mind games. If the pirate captain wasn’t going to get angry or mock him, he could at least blackmail him.
“How about it? We’ll put you against, let’s say, the port side gunner crew. Then we can add other crew based on where they’re typically stationed.” Angelica turned to the crew and raised her voice. “Not that we need more than a handful of crew to take down one measly Bat.”
The pirates cheered as six of them grabbed worn wooden weapons with practiced ease. Dick stretched. If there was one lesson Dick wanted the crew to take from this, it was the Bat guild’s reputation was well earned and justly feared.
Angelica held out two wooden swords about the same length of his blades. “Not Amazonian, but figured you could manage.”
“Only this once and only because it’s you,” Dick said. The crew pressed against the railings, leaving the middle cleared for the match. Still no Slade. “Where’s—” No Rose either. “Rose?”
“They’ll be here,” Angelica said, not even pretending she didn’t hear his actual question. “Now prove if your reputation is warranted. Come on, Grayson.”
The pirates jeered when Dick made it to the middle the cleared space. He’d take it over the awkward silences. He bowed theatrically.
“Alright, normal rules,” Angelica said. “This is training, not an excuse to beat the shit out of each other. No maiming, no murder. I will step if needed and we’ll talk, in detail, about why. Mock killing is allowed and if your opponent kills you, honor it. Otherwise, when you’re disarmed, you’re done. Understood?”
“Aye, ma’am!” the pirates called, some shouts making it clear who had a military background.
Dick saluted with a wooden sword.
“Begin,” Angelica said.
The Deathstroke crew didn’t waste time, but Dick was already moving. They were one of the few crews impressive individually and as a unit. Slade did well shaping his crew, but Dick been doing this for longer than most. He slipped behind one pirate, slapping the sword out of his hand.
He grinned, knowing each dodge made the pirates that much more frustrated, that much sloppier. His wooden blades twirled in dramatic flourishes that slapped against undefended stomachs or legs. The Deathstroke crew, like so many pirates, valued force over flexibility. And force was so easy to manipulate. He tripped a pirate who would be incapacitated in real life into another who swore and diverted his strike. Dick twisted the wooden blade out of the swearing pirate’s grip, launching it like a spear to a pirate trying to sneak behind him. She swore and swore again when Dick slashed across her throat.
“Aww it’s like a warm-up,” Dick cooed. The remaining pirates scowled in unison.
He twisted and blocked a wooden blade and whacked the pirate’s wrist hard enough her weapon clattered across the deck. The other pirate’s weapon went wide and he practically stepped into Dick’s blade.
“Boarding party A move in,” Angelica said. The fresh pirates stepped over their fallen comrades and Dick kicked himself for not noting the wooden weaponry in the crowd. The environment could make or break any fight.
He didn’t let his frustration show, of course. “Still looks like an extended warm up to me.”
The short pirate spat and surged forward. Unlike the gunner crew, the boarding party worked in duos. The bald pirate grunted as he followed his shorter partner. They worked well together. He expected nothing less from the crew members who saw more combat. Dick deflected their blades into each other.
He flipped, slicing the duo with his dual wooden blades and using them as shields against the pirates attempting to stab him from behind. The thrum of a fight was meditative. The blades arcing as anticipated, the ship rocking rhythmically, and footwork faltering as Dick weaved through. A wooden blade had yet to touch him. He knew it, the pirates knew it, and the crowd screamed—a mix of cheers and jeers. Defeating Dick remained the goal, but the strain to break his defense was palpable.
But Dick’s defense was solid. It could be nothing else after Bruce’s tutelage. He disarmed the last of the boarding crew and caught their blade with a flourish. His blood sang. All the stress that twisted since this morning melted. There was nothing like a good fight to lighten the mood.
“Who’s next?”
“Not sure how Harley runs her ship,” Slade said, stepping into the cleared space. The fallen pirates scrambled away or were dragged out by their peers. His eye sparked with bloodlust. A familiar sight but Dick’s stomach dropped. “But by now you would’ve attracted my attention.”
He needed to say something. The crew quieted and Dick missed the good-natured ribbing, even the nasty taunts. Now was too reminiscent of the crew’s wariness earlier.
“Harley fought,” Dick said. What was his scent doing? He was out of practice in keeping it in check. Slade had yet to look away, predatory and prowling closer. His attention locked Dick in place. “She was just distracted.”
“Unrelated to your doings, I’m sure,” Slade said.
The stiffness from their earlier conversation vanished and Slade acted like nothing happened. Dick couldn’t pinpoint what caused change. “Sometimes sails catch fire.”
Slade smirked, approving, and Dick felt jittery. Someone coughed.
“Let’s use real steel, little bird,” Slade said. The nickname was not a new one, but it carried weight now. His omega purred and he forcibly smothered anything audible. Instincts were so annoying at times.
“Any stakes?” Dick tossed his wooden swords to Angelica and drew his dual Amazonian blades. Slade’s current blades were well made, though boring, but he had several tempting trophies.
“Not since this is training, but I’m always open for a duel.” Slade’s broadsword swiped, but it was basically a tap. Their friendly spars numbered exactly zero. The last time they crossed blades was during a battle between the Sirens and Bats and the Sirens managed to hide Slade and his crew until it was too late. Bruce still wasn’t over missing that.
Their blades were soon flashing, strikes picking up rhythm. Dick eliminated his flourishes. His showboating was used to annoy or intimidate. While annoying Slade was always a perk, the pirate captain would ruthlessly take advantage of any movement that wasn’t focused on attack or defense.
They circled the deck, Dick dodging and Slade following, swifter than his large frame implied. Their clangs echoed and the crew were cheering again. After these years, they were familiar with the other’s fighting styles. Very familiar with the other’s weaknesses—Dick aimed for Slade’s blind spot and Slade tried to corner Dick as if he wasn’t entirely willing to scurry up the ropes and take their duel up the mast. They matched each other like a call and response. It felt like a dance.
Dick was grinning and wasn’t sure when that happened.
Slade kept a neutral mask, but his scent gave him away. Practically heady with how pleased and excited he was. The smoke curled around Dick, comforting like a blanket and eager like a puppy. It shouldn’t be relaxing mid-spar yet it was. Dick sniffed as he feinted and jabbed. He couldn’t quite pick out one note. Slightly spicier. Almost mouthwatering. Completely addictive.
Slade unleashed a harsh blow from above, using his height and strength to his advantage. Dick deflected with a grunt, letting the momentum slide past him and he twirled the opposite direction and struck. The alpha rumbled approvingly.
Desire.
Dick faltered and Slade had him on his back, steel caressing his throat. Their breath mixed as Slade leaned in close. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to bite. Dick dragged his gaze away from Slade’s lips. None of this escaped the pirate’s notice.
“Do you yield?” Slade’s voice was almost a growl. The smoke was heavier and Dick realized too late his caramel scent plumed. Someone coughed again.
Dick’s cheeks heated. Their audience rushed back to focus.
“Training is moving to the stern deck,” Angelica yelled. “Hop to. Anyone remaining here in the next twenty seconds answers to me.”
The crew fled impressively under twelve, but it felt like an eternity. Slade didn’t have the decency to pretend to be anything other than pleased while Dick flailed between embarrassment and irritation. Yet he didn’t move under Slade. Yes, the blade remained, but Slade’s bulk seared heat where they touched. The alpha’s free hand ghosted over his scent gland.
“Slade.” His warning turned breathy and that felt telling in ways he couldn’t blame on instincts.
“You haven’t yielded yet.” Slade’s lips brushed his ear.
Dick’s mouth was dry. He was a bounty hunter trained by Batman. He shouldn’t be struck dumb because an alpha was being domineering, even if Slade had been a blind spot of his for a while.
But Slade’s smell was intoxicating and his caramel want crested. Slade’s hand twitched.
“You haven’t earned it,” Dick said while his inner omega urged him to go limp.
Uncertainty cracked through and he only had moments before it morphed to something nastier.
Dick could play this a couple ways. He could pretend the Scorch was nothing be an aphrodisiac and his unfiltered scent meant nothing. He could pretend nothing changed then avoid Slade as long as possible. Dick could lie and Slade could pretend to believe him.
Or Dick could give into the attraction he ignored for too long.
Dick exposed his neck a hair. No where close to submission. No where close to the open access Dick forced on Slade when Scorched, but enough to show his intent. “But you could.”
Slade’s rumble turned possessive and for once he and his inner omega were aligned, his inner omega purring and Dick’s toes curling. He could see the moment his spiked scent caused Slade’s satisfied smirk.
“I will,” Slade said like a threat, but his scent lightened. Thick with desire, the possessiveness likely a staple, but it was almost giddy? Kinda endearing.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dick said, dismissiveness not dampening the smoky scent dancing around and intermingling. “Are you seriously scenting me?”
Scenting would be presumptuous if it came from anyone else outside of pack or friends and Dick would normally eagerly correct that behavior, but Slade didn’t feel like an intrusion. Slade’s scent mixed like it belonged. Something for Dick to dissect later but, for now, he relished in it.
“Can’t have the crew getting the wrong idea.”
“Like any would approach me now.” Because Dick was cursed to be in only compromising positions around the Deathstroke crew. “Even if they did, I would dissuade them without any lasting damage, just for you.”
“You could give some lasting damage,” Slade said. “Save me the trouble.”
Dick huffed a small laugh, batting away the sword against his throat and twisting to his feet. The alpha straightened, but remained firmly in Dick’s space. Dick always had an appreciation for Slade’s frame—as a worthy opponent, of course—but Slade’s shoulders seemed somehow broader and more climbable.
“I’m not doing your dirty work,” Dick said, and, before he lost the nerve, continued. “I’m sorry I groped you, by the way.”
“You were drugged, little bird. You weren’t coherent,” Slade said. “If anything, I should apologize.”
“Don’t,” Dick said. “You were—Others may have behaved differently.”
“Others are weak.” Despite his harsh tone, Slade eased forward, telegraphing his intent and giving Dick time to move, until he leaned against the mast at Dick’s back, effectively caging him. “I’ll have you willing or not at all.”
Dick tilted his head up, content to be caged for the moment. “None of how I acted was because you were conveniently close. It was because it was you.”
“You not slashing me with your swords was a good indicator of that,” the pirate drawled. However, Slade’s scent danced under his forced indifference.
Dick grinned and Slade’s cool façade faltered. A glimpse of the real Slade peeked back. Not the Slade overly concerned about his reputation. Not the Slade who pretended to be above feelings, but the Slade with a raw edge of want and wonder shining through the cracks. Caramel thickened, tellingly rich.
Dick wasn’t sure who moved first. One moment, Slade loomed like a temptation, the next their lips connected, Dick’s hand tangled in Slade’s hair and Slade’s free hand stroking his waist. Dick kissed until his lungs screamed. His kissed like he was drowning and Slade was air. He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss made him this desperate. All he craved was more.
They separated and Dick gasped in a breath. At some point, his leg wrapped around Slade’s.
“My room?” Slade’s nonchalance was ruined as the alpha mouthed up Dick’s jaw.
“Only if we can use your bath. That thing was amazing,” Dick said.
Slade rumbled. “That can be arranged.”
Slade picked up Dick as if he weighed nothing and it was Dick’s turn to distract Slade with his mouth. His smoky scent was everywhere, as enticing as the man. The journey to Slade’s cabin was a blur. His brain only caught up with moment Slade closed the door and stared, eye dark with lust.
Maybe it wouldn’t be such a long trip, after all.
Rose had been on ships since before she could walk. The ocean swell as familiar blinking and never causing sea sickness. Nausea rose as the spicy smoky caramel scent wafted past. They were in the open ocean. Why was their scent smothering the ship?
“Second position!” Angelica yelled. The crew obediently changed drills, one of each duo going on the offensive. She patted Rose. Rose tried to glower, but the spice spiked and she rested her head against the railing, contemplating the perks of throwing herself overboard. “Don’t know what you expected.”
“I told Dad to act normal because he was stressing Dick out,” Rose snapped, muffled against the wood. “I didn’t tell him to…that.”
“Because your father toying with Grayson would get less heated after Slade realized Grayson reciprocated,” Angelica drawled. She raised her voice. “Third!”
The crew changed positions.
The waves rolled temptingly.
“Grayson is unbelievably obvious without his scent blockers,” Angelica said as if Rose hadn’t been tortured by Dick’s emotional turmoil that morning. Even without Dick sniffing at Dad’s clothes, she could tell whenever Dick thought about him. Rose hated it. “Surprised Slade still needed a pep talk from you to try something.”
“Shut up.” Rose didn’t want to think about it. Rose wanted to sulk and moan and pretend her dad had the sexual urges of a eunuch. Rose chalked up anything vaguely flirtatious as Dick bantering and annoying Dad. She never gave it weight because giving it weight meant not only did Dick want Dad, but Dad wanted Dick.
The scents infiltrating her nostrils shoved a different story down her throat.
“Fourth!” Angelica leaned against the railing. “Go below deck, kid. Stop torturing yourself.”
Rose didn’t need to be told twice.