Work Text:
When her father's eye fluttered open, Rose bared her teeth at him in a grin.
Slade was immediately aware and didn't bother hiding it from her. He knew that she'd use her precog to the fullest extent while around him. He tugged at the handcuffs holding him to the radiator in the abandoned apartment.
"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he lifted one handcuffed wrist until the chain went taut. "This is beneath you, Rose."
"I think it's right at your level," Rose said, crouching in front of him.
Slade looked at her, then down at his boxers— the only thing he was still wearing. Her Ravager costume was a stark contrast to his near nudity. For once, she was protected; he was vulnerable.
It was funny how nonplussed he could look when he wasn't the one seeking her out. Like it was up to him and him alone when and how they interacted. Rose laughed in disbelief.
"If you wanted to spend some time together, I'm sure we could have planned something." Slade didn't bother trying to escape. Rose wondered if he'd noticed the special alloy the handcuffs were made of. He'd find out soon, though that would only slow him down, she knew.
"The way you plan things when you want to see me? Would you rather I called in a hit on you?" Rose pulled one of her knives, spinning it idly. It was a threat display that wouldn't work on either of them. But she liked her knife. The temperature in the room plummeted, a draft lifting their hair.
"I'd have preferred that, yes." Slade's tone was still measured.
"Alright then," Rose said and, quick as lightning, stabbed him in the chest.
Slade's body seized, despite his pain tolerance, more out of shock than anything. The blade was embedded between two of his ribs. A punctured lung whistled as he inhaled. He jerked against the cuffs more seriously, but they didn't break.
Rose plopped into his lap fully clothed, resting a hand on the knife as she leaned in. Blood dripped lazily down his chest, shivering with each of his breaths.
"How's that?" she asked, twisting the blade.
"Childish," her father wheezed. His affect was flat, his face unmoving, but he couldn't hide the lack of air when speaking.
"What do you want instead?" Rose asked, tugging the blade out playfully. The stab gaped, her father's healing needing some time, even as advanced as it was now. She tickled the wound with the tip of her bloodied knife, prodding at the torn edges and smearing the blood further.
"Rose," Slade said.
"You want me to pick, Daddy?" Rose rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning back and shifting her hips against the still-soft bulge that filled her father's boxers. "You're so sweet."
Gently, she traced the tip of the knife down his chest, tapping on each rib she passed. When she reached his vulnerable belly, she slowed, digging the knife in and cutting a shallow, crooked line. He inhaled sharply, breath still whistling. Rose assessed the plane of muscle, hidden behind a thin layer of protective fat, then pressed hard, cutting with some effort into the liver. The skin parted, blood gushing abruptly out before slowing as the blade blocked the arteries it had severed.
Slade let out another choked off noise, and Rose leaned in and kissed it out of his mouth. He gasped, then tried biting her. Rose let him, hot pain lancing through her lip, before sinking her own teeth into his mouth. He gurgled, then pulled away to breathe. They held a perverse eye contact for a long moment, their mirrored single eyes the exact same shade of blue.
Then, Slade spat a wad of blood and saliva on her cheek, landing on her mask and then dripping down. The air against it was cool. Rose grinned harder, feeling it slide to her chin. She took Slade's chin in one hand and jerked his face to the side, then licked his cheek, long and slow, before tugging his eyepatch out of the way and pressing her lips gently to his ruined eye.
Gently, she pressed her tongue into the socket, not minding the taste of old skin and iron.
He jerked in her grip, blinking his other eye out of reflex. When she pulled back, she noticed the first gouge in his chest was nearly healed. She licked her lips, then ground against him. Despite everything, she could feel his cock starting to harden.
"Wow," she said. "That did it for you? This is the way you used to like me, isn't it?"
Slade's jaw clenched, a vein jumping on one side. He didn't respond.
"Or is it that you think I'm going to let you fuck me? You wanna fill your kid up, Daddy? Make little inbred white-haired babies with me? You're so close to my pussy, and I haven't taken birth control in months. You think it'd take on the first try?"
He still didn't rise to the bait. Rose pouted, rocking harder and sparing a little attention to rubbing her clit with him. The titillating feeling had her groaning.
"I know you could get away if you really wanted to," she murmured as the wound between his ribs finally sealed, the skin pink and fresh. Rose considered pulling her knife to the side and seeing how quickly he could recover from a split liver combined with a disembowelment… but that wasn't really why she was here. He was blocking her out, she thought. A positive in the long run, maybe, but not what she wanted at the moment.
"Daddy? Are you listening?"
"No," he answered.
"Okay." Rose tapped her chin thoughtfully with the blade, not minding the blood she knew it left behind. It was a sticky sensation, but one she had long grown used to.
The best place would be… she rolled against Slade again, savoring his cock through the layers they were wearing. Really, there was no good angle for what she wanted, not with him sitting up like this. Well, she'd make it work.
Flipping the knife easily, she dug it up right beneath Slade's sternum, parting the skin and muscle with practiced force. He choked again.
"Are you listening now?" she asked.
Slade's gasping breath was wet. He could take this and more, she knew, but she also knew he wasn't expecting it.
"Why the hell—" he coughed, spitting to the side this time. "—are you doing this?"
"It's been too long since I saw you. I thought you'd miss me, come try to blow my life up again..." Rose trailed off, grinding her hips against his erection. She let go of the handle of the knife. "I wanted to remind you why you shouldn't."
Rose reached into the pouch on her belt. Carefully, she pulled out a razor blade, holding it delicately between two fingers.
"And this time," she said, "I won't let you forget."
Wiggling the knife to open the wound a little further, she withdrew it and tossed it to the side. Her fingers slid in with the razor easily, like she was fingering someone who'd already been soaking and open. She huffed out a laugh.
"You're so easy for me, aren't you?" she murmured, wiggling deeper. Slade's insides were anonymous and unidentifiable against her fingers. She didn't care what she was damaging, really. He'd heal from it. More important was… she held the gash open with her free hand, opening it so she could get most of her hand inside. The razor cut at her fingers through her gloves as she jammed it up and in.
"My whole hand can fit in you…" Rose wiggled her fingers one last time, making sure she couldn't feel the razor. It was in deep, floating in the core of her father's body.
Slowly, she withdrew, feeling her cheeks flush at the lewd sounds. Her glove was covered in gore, Slade's flesh clinging to her. She wondered why he wasn't saying anything— a quick glance at his face, and his limp mouth indicated that he'd actually passed out. Clicking her tongue, Rose shifted in his lap. He was still hilariously hard underneath her.
For a moment, she thought about using that, but it wasn't what she was interested in. She traced patterns on the still clean parts of his chest with his blood, watching as it clumped in his chest hair. The glove grew stiffer as the blood began to dry, then began to crackle with each flex of her hand.
The stab wound on his belly was nearly fully healed, and the more recent cut below his sternum had stopped gaping by the time he woke back up. He wheezed, good eye fluttering.
"Rose?" he asked, clearly confused. Disoriented from blood loss and pain, though that would only last seconds. Rose hummed, pleased that he'd woken up (she didn't want her dad dead, after all).
"Here's the key," she said, pulling it out and tossing it at him as she stood. It bounced off of his chest, clattering to the floor next to him. His boxers had a telling wet patch at the tip of his cock, and the waistband was discolored with blood that had dripped down and collected there.
Slade groaned, curling up, protecting his vulnerable belly too late. Sweat beaded at his temples.
"You… left something inside?" he asked.
"To remember me by." Rose picked her knife up off of the floor, not bothering to clean it before putting it in its sheathe. She wouldn't be using it again, anyway.