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Dick grimaced as he left another criminal tied up for the Bludhaven police to find. For the past week, all the criminals and a few police officers had been out for his blood. The jails had never been this full before. He had a bad feeling that Blockbuster had put a bounty on his head.
Dick sighed, he might as well turn in for the night and try to get a few hours of sleep. At least one of the benefits of Captain Rohrbach firing him was he had more time to be Nightwing. That, and he could get more sleep. Just as he started to head towards one of his safehouses, he heard a gunshot. Before he could even move, he felt a bullet whiz right past his ear.
Dick pulled out his escrima as he spun around, only for his heart to drop at the sight of his attacker. It was Floyd Lawton, aka Deadshot, the world's greatest marksman and the second most lethal assassin after Deathstroke. Shit, the reward had to be in the millions if some of the bigger villains were starting to come after him.
“Hello, Pretty Bird,” Floyd cooed eagerly. Dick had to fight back a shudder at the way Floyd eyed him, how his eyes lingered on his ass longer than proper.
“Deadshot. The price on my head must be huge if you’re here,” Dick probed, hoping to stall the assassin. If he could last about ½ an hour, the Batfamily might be able to get here in time to save him. But Floyd hadn’t earned his reputation for being stupid. He had waited to strike until the end of the night to attack when he was exhausted from crime fighting. Smart, since he doubted that he’d be able to last 5 minutes in his current state against a trained assassin who boasted of never missing.
He could see the outline of a smirk under Floyd’s mask. “It originally was $1 million, but when Bludhaven failed to take you down, it went up to $100 million.”
Dick’s eyes went wide behind his mask, that explained everything that had happened in the past week. Shit, that meant he was going to be drowning in supervillains for the next couple of days once word got out. He was going to have to do something fast. Even if he somehow managed to escape, he’d end up with more holes in him than swiss cheese, which he’d really prefer not to happen. If he wanted to survive this bounty, he had to be in top shape.
Unfortunately, Floyd was well known for always carrying out a kill as long as he was getting paid. He desperately hoped that since Floyd hadn’t been specifically hired to kill him, he could be convinced not to accept the bounty. Time to enact Plan B, which was distraction and bargaining. “The Batfamily, Justice League, and Teen Titans will come after you if you kill me.” Let’s see if that worked.
“I’m hoping for that. I want to see if I can manage to get rid of a couple of them while they are thrown off their game by grief,” Floyd drawled lazily. Damn it. It was well known that Floyd wanted to die in a spectacular way and having all the superheroes in the world come after him would satisfy that.
A sudden thought came to him, Superman would come for him if he yelled loud enough. Just as he parted his lips, he immediately closed them when a laser bore sight settled on his neck.
“I’ll shoot you in the throat before you can manage to utter one syllable of the big blue boy scout’s name,” Floyd cheerfully got out, before his eye cruelly gleamed. “Heh, wouldn’t that be a nice title, ‘The Man who Silenced Nightwing’. Maybe I’ll leave you alive after destroying your vocal cords, what do you think about that?”
“If you make me mute, I’d rather you just finish off the job,” Dick immediately responded, causing Floyd to snicker. Talking was a huge part of his shtick, and to lose it would almost be as bad as becoming a paraplegic.
Floyd cracked his knuckles, an anticipatory look in his eye. “Pretty Bird, you’re not going to be able to pay me off as you did with Deathstroke. We both know you’d never get the money from Batman, who doesn’t make deals with criminals.”
Floyd was right, Bruce would never pay off a villain, not with this amount of money. A thought came to mind, and he prayed it would work. “See, that’s one of the ways I’m different from Batman. Unlike him, I’m willing to cross the line, to make a deal with the devil.” He forced a degree of confidence into his voice that he certainly didn’t feel right now.
Floyd, who had been fiddling with his equipment, momentarily paused. “Go on.”
A faint grimace curled his face. “Want to know how I convinced Deathstroke to accept my counteroffer not to kill Captain Rohrbach?”
“Sure.” Floyd definitely looked interested now.
Dick pursed his lips, trying to figure out a way to put it in more delicate terms. “He got to experience how flexible I am.”
Floyd froze before he threw back his head and laughed. “Come on, Pretty Bird. You think I’m going to abandon the chance to earn $100 million for sex?”
“Floyd, Floyd, Floyd. I’m not oblivious,” Dick drawled mockingly as if scolding a child. “Don’t you want to find out what’s so great about my ass that it helped convince Deathstroke to not complete a contract?”
Dick desperately hoped that playing off the rivalry between the two assassins would go in his favor. “I spend one night in your bed; in exchange, you don’t accept the bounty on my head.” Oh, look at that, he had rhymed, Dick thought somewhat hysterically.
He didn’t like using his body like this, but if it prevented him from dying, then he’d do whatever was necessary. It was moments like this that he hated Bludhaven. The town had forced him to abandon the strict black-and-white world he used to live in, for a life full of shades of gray.
Now, he did morally ambiguous things like team up with the murderous Tarantula, join the corrupt Police Force to take them out from the inside, pay off Deathstroke with his money and body, and now pay off Deadshot with his body. He needed a shower, preferably with bleach; anything to get rid of the dirt on him from the city.
He was broken out of his thoughts when he was slammed against a wall, a knee pressed between his legs. His wrists were captured above his head in a gloved fist, and his escrima was knocked out of his hands and onto the ground.
Goddamnit, why did everyone have to be taller than him? Dick felt a surge of irritation as the other gloved hand settled in his hair, forcing him to look up. Floyd had a good inch or two on him, although it wasn’t as bad as Slade, who was over ½ a foot taller than him.
“I can do whatever I want with you?” Floyd whispered into his ear; his cloth mask pulled up to his nose.
“My mask stays on, no marks above my shoulders, and no recordings of any kind.” The last thing he needed was a sex tape of a villain fucking him getting out, or to be seen with hickeys.
Floyd tilted his head in thought, before nodding. “Deal,” Floyd purred out, just before he crashed their lips together.
Dick grimaced ever so slightly at the taste of cigarettes; he didn’t know the assassin smoked. Not that he could really do anything with that information. ‘Hey, B. Deadshot smokes cigarettes. How do I know this? Oh, I had sex with him, that’s how.’ Yeah, that conversation would go over really well. He’d be locked up in the Batcave forever.
Dick was brought out of his thoughts when he felt a tongue slide past his lips, and he immediately started kissing back. He had to admit; Floyd was a pretty good kisser. Then again, Floyd had been married with one kid, then accidentally had another kid with a prostitute.
Dick shook his head ever so slightly, he needed to stop thinking about the age of his recent ‘partners’. First Slade, now Floyd. Was this going to be a trend? Him agreeing to have sex with divorced middle-aged assassins with offspring in order to save the lives of himself and others? He desperately hoped not.
At least Tarantula was a single, unmarried female who was a few years older than him; thank god for small mercies. He knew that she’d inevitably find a way into his pants; it was only a matter of time with how persistent she had been lately.
Eventually, they broke apart for air. Floyd licked his lips, looking eager. He bent down to kiss him again, and Dick turned his head so the assassin would get his cheek instead.
“You got a taste, that’ll hold you over until we get to one of my safehouses.” At the curious look he got, Dick scowled. “I’m not having sex with you right here.” There was no way in hell was having sex with an infamous assassin out in the open. He wasn’t that much of an exhibitionist, plus the possibility of being seen wasn’t something he wanted to risk.
Floyd chuckled, an amused gleam in his eye. “You got it, Pretty Bird. Where are we going?”
Dick pursed his lips; he might as well use the same one that he had used with Slade. Wouldn’t that be ironic? He was going to have sex with the two deadliest assassins in the same bed, although at different times. He leaned forward, before whispering the address in Floyd’s ear.
Floyd tilted his head, before removing his hands from his body. Immediately, Dick crouched down and pocketed his escrima, before straightening up. “Don’t worry, Pretty Bird. You won’t regret this decision,” Floyd purred in what he probably thought was a soothing tone.
A bitter snort escaped Dick’s lips at that. “I already have,” he snapped out in faint resignation, before turning around and running towards the edge of the building. He fired off his grappling gun and swung away to the sound of Floyd’s laughter.
Hours later they were sprawled on his bed. Dick knew in the morning he’d hate himself for what he had done. But right now, he couldn’t find himself to care about the fact that he was cuddling up with one of the deadliest assassins around.
Dick let out a contented noise in the back of his throat when long fingers lightly ran through his hair. “Don’t worry, I don’t kiss and tell.” Dick warily peered up at Floyd, who had a sincere look on his face, and felt a surge of relief. While Floyd didn’t seem like the type to brag, he’d had the faint fear all night that Floyd would spread the news around.
“Thanks. I won’t tell anyone ‘bout this,” he mumbled after a moment of thought. He figured Floyd would also appreciate the reassurance. After all, his professional reputation would be on the line if word got out that he allowed a potential target to have sex with him in order to avoid being killed.
Judging by the way the fingers momentarily paused in his hair, before continuing to stroke much gentler this time, he was correct in his assessment. “Go to sleep, Pretty Bird” Floyd cooed softly before he felt the covers being pulled over them.
Dick curled closer to Floyd, before quickly slipping unconscious. Dick woke up several hours later from one of the most peaceful naps he’d had in ages. He blindly reached out, only to find a barely warm indent in the bed next to him. He stiffened when the memory of what had happened came back to him.
Dick slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in his ass. It was a shame he would have to abandon his safehouse, he kind of liked it. However, the last thing he needed was two of the world’s deadliest mercenaries knowing about its location. He’d burn it down once he cleaned himself up and packed everything away. Good thing he had taken the precaution of creating a few safehouses throughout the city.
Suddenly, he spotted a small piece of paper and bullet on his bedside table. He grabbed the note, only to blink in surprise at the phone number and message on it.
Call if you ever need help.
- Floyd Lawton
Dick sighed before he grabbed his superhero phone from the bedside table. He saved the number under the contact name Magnum, after the type of bullets Floyd used. The last thing he needed was Bruce getting his hands on his phone and seeing the contact name Deadshot in there. Judging by how his phone had been moved from where he had placed it last night, Floyd also had his number.
He didn’t think he’d ever call, purely because then he’d have to explain why Deadshot was helping him in the first place.
He turned the magnum bullet shell casing over in his hands, and immediately realized it came from the warning shot that had whizzed past his ear. He rolled his eyes, before chucking it into a corner of his room. He wasn’t like Batman who liked to keep souvenirs, plus he’d have a hell of a time explaining how he got this one.
He carefully got out of bed, before limping over to the bathroom. He really could use a nice, long shower. An hour later, he got into his costume, blew up the safehouse, and headed out for patrols.
He’d do whatever it took to make sure that justice was served, even if it meant making a deal with the devil. To hell with the consequences, he’d worry about them later. A grin curled Dick’s face as he swung across the rooftops into the night, he had a city to protect.