Flying without a net: Memory bites

Poor Choices

WARNINGS: mature content, rape, death and violence. Bad Slade. Jay time.
I don't know whether this is too explicit, so tell me if you think I should not keep it published.
I also have no beta and I know my writing is very concise, maybe too much. Let me know if you can't understand it, I'll explain and fix it. (self indulgence art goes brr)

Warm hands slithered between Dick's chest and the bed. It was nice, a comforting way to be waken up, until the embrace turned into being thrusted up and thrown across the room. That was less nice, aka bruises resembling the edge of the bookshelf on his back next morning.
Dick fell on all fours, his attacker quickly looming over: dark boots. Three kicks on the ribs, and his breathing was rattling. He got pulled up by the hair, and the left side of his head was slammed against the wall. Dick's vision got blurry, and ears started ringing. There was then a bite on his jaw to ground him.

And then it finally clicked. Big, strong, scotch drenched Slade. Fuck yeah.

The mercenary's other hand crushed his chin and turned it, locking their eyes together. Dick felt earie, blood pumping in his temples.
Slade, well, Slade was upset, clearly. The man inhaled deeply, and that hand moved down, clenching his windpipe.
At that, Dick woke up, and aimed for his groin, effectively freeing himself. He immediately stumbled to the other side of the room, towards the door, to his weapons. This, was the worst Slade, the even more unpredictable, vengeful one. A familiar nightmare.

He was in the hall in a matter of hours, well minutes, mind seeming to hyper focus on his every single action.
Stand up- wearing yellow socks, doorknob- so shiny, open door- cracking and muffled noises in the background, rush through corridor- sticks under sofa. Sofa, sofa...
"Haley. HALEY" Dick half breathed out.
There was a growl coming closer.
Dick started parkouring through the living room, frantically, but no signs of pupper. He ended up in the kitchen. And there he dropped.

Energic Haley was stone, her neck bent oddly.
The boy went to wake her up, trembling hand on soft gray fur.
She must have been very tired because she did not stir. Dick lifted his friend in his arms. It was heavy, but warm, like his mother's hand. He was hugging no one, yet there was a body, yet it looked like Haley.
The kitchen was moving away, curtains flowing gently.

He was lifted up and slammed down on the cheap wood floor, oxygen bursting out of his lungs. Slade was shouting at him. Slade. "... Blud's whore! You take mine; I take yours." Haley.
Dick punches exploded in a fit, indescribable cry so high, it was cracking, barely audible under his panting. "YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED- ". Slade, high on his knees, grabbed his wrists in one hand, and bend down, pinning them above the other man's head and caging him.
Dick was thrashing, kicking randomly, trying to get away; but this was his bird.
He clenched its chest, nailing it down, trying to still it. Its skin became wet and slippery fast, but it was finally still.

He glared at it in the eyes, silence all around. Dick's skin was flushed, his eyes wet, his bloody thorax hectically lulling Slade's focus. He went to hug him, whispering softly to that little golden earring, "Mine. Little Bird"; sliding a finger on trembling lips, smooth lips.
Slade kissed them, parting them, teeth gently enveloping the bottom one, sucking on it while pulling away, until it popped out. Exploring this familiar mouth without the usual tension, so pliant, so tempting, so right, for him to finally do whatever he wants, as all of his things should be.

Slade's hand moved downwards, reveling at the sight of his artistic marks, and further on, to those strong tights loosely wrapped around his waist, knees at his hip bones. He let go of scrawny wrists and engulfed full limbs, molding flesh, to bloom in exquisite blues, painting more, and more, and more, until he finally arrived at his cheeks, perfectly fitting in his hands, two bubbles all Bludhaven spoiled now.
Slade tore the boxers out of the way and pushed a finger in. He curled it just like he did with the chest, as if to weld Dick's flesh to his own, then he added another, two, three digits. Grayson was his fucking own.

The boy was groaning. There was a spiky stick of sandpaper up his ass, scratching and scissoring him. Then there was emptiness, and then, unmistakably, the tip of Slade's penis, prodding, pushing in. Dick gasped and pushed up with his legs, lifting the mercenary by his hips. Slade pushed down and bit his throat hard, forcing his way back in, Dick screamed. He pulled out and slammed back in, agonizing shouts seeming good to set the pace, friction no longer a problem after a few thrusts.
Dick had no more voice and Slade filled the burning wound hot.

____

A smirking Jason got in the dangly elevator, which closed with a satisfying ding. He pushed one of the highest numbers and felt gravity dragging him down.

Okay, okay, okay, hahah, it was supposed to be a distraction, so the other bats could operate more efficiently, but damn Dickie! The viral video replayed in his mind once again, his drunkish brother, questionably dressed (dressed-ish), pole dancing at a random club in Blud, and hella good at it too. Lewd comments shouted by the crowd; post caption:"Finally! Someone had to make Nightwing jealous!"

Jason wondered whether Goldie actually had spent time learning how to wiggle ass or was just a natural whore. Ding. Either way, what kind of brother would he be to waste such a teasing opportunity.

Holding the alcohol under his arm, he fetched Dick's apartment's spare keys and stepped into the living room.

The lights were switched off and someone was heavy snoring- Goldie really outdid his loudness record...
Uhm, oddly, no wiggling tail nor biting greetings though... Maybe it's the pup's snoring?? Coming from the floor...

"Jay", a strangled cry, "Jay help".

He followed the feeble voice to the rumbling intermittence, eyes adjusted to the darkness.
His brother was buried under at least 230 lbs of muscle.
"Shit".
At least Selina was a lightweight.

----

Dick was standing trembling, his every movement desperate and delayed like a rush for air while drowning. He was also naked and bloodied.

Red Hood was no Batman,
but he also was no Bruce.

Jason wrapped his jacket around those tense shoulders and held his brother's hand.
He waited until Dick locked eyes with him, then he with all the softness and confidence he could hardly muster, he guided his brother "Home".