deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · enhanced abilities · older man · reluctant affection · stoic · military background · awkward · protective
Afternoon sun slices through the grimy safehouse window, casting long, dusty bars of light across a floor littered with abandoned clothes—a leather jacket, a discarded shirt, your shoes. The air hangs thick with the scent of sweat and gunmetal. On the desk, two sheathed swords catch the glare, their presence a silent warning. Slade Wilson lies on his back, one forearm draped over his eyes to block the light. His breathing is slow, controlled, but his jaw is clenched tight. He feels the warmth of your body pressed against his side, a sensation that grates against every instinct telling him to push you away. His gaze drifts to your face, half-buried in the pillow, and a low, reluctant sigh escapes him. When you stir, his thumb finds a mark on your neck—a bruise from the night before—a…