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Slade hoped he could relax once they’d escaped that damn island, but nope, the fuckin’ kid got himself captured again. Only a week prior, Slade had saved his ass from the street gang he dove in the middle of. It was like Starling—Star, whatever it was calling itself this year—choked all the skills Slade had taught him until only the rich brat he’d first met remained, just replace whining about the food with screaming for justice.
“Ya could’ve easily evaded capture just as easily as ya could’ve avoided getting overwhelmed by that gang,” Slade muttered as he crawled beneath the base: an abandoned steel mill of all fuckin’ things. He bit his cheek to keep quiet when his head hit a pipe. The bigger of the guards thought he’d heard something, but the shorter one convinced him it was nothing.
Oliver would be in the next room. If Short Stuff would just back up a pace…
Slade clocked Short Stuff in the jaw when he leapt out of the grates, then kicked Big and Tall in the gut and onto the floor. He slammed Short Stuff’s head into the wall just before he got a chance to call for backup. Big and Tall’s own call got canceled by a beheading.
If the kid wasn’t gonna follow Slade’s rules for keeping his hide safe, then Slade wasn’t gonna follow his rule of no killing.
The door shoved off with a swipe of Big and Tall’s security card.
“You look like shit,” Slade said as he cut Oliver out of his binds and handed him a spare bow and quiver.
Oliver looked down at Slade through overgrown bangs as he all but bounded out of the chair. He shrugged and murmured his thanks as he left the room to complete the mission as if he hadn’t spent half a week caged and likely tortured.
Slade followed him with narrowed eyes.
“Not like I care what happens to these people, but I thought we weren’t supposed to kill now?”
Oliver dropped the thug he’d been beating.
“That’s right, puppy,” Broken Ribs heaved from the floor with a shaky grip on his gun, “Daddy’s got your leash—”
“Whoops,” Slade shrugged after embedding his swords in Broken Ribs’ neck. “My hand slipped.”
Slade was putting his weapons away, yet he seemed to be paying more attention to the team’s chatter than Oliver was. Oliver wasn’t talking, only responding. He barely hid his hisses as he rubbed his rope burn-stained hands.
“Oliver, let’s train,” Slade looked up at him.
“But he just got—ow!” Curtis rubbed his arm after Felicity had smacked it.
“Different kind of training, Curtis,” said Diggle.
“What’re—oh!”
Felicity scoffed, “Prude.”
“There is nothing wrong with vanilla sex, you kink monsters!”
“Don’t rope me into this,” Diggle held up his hands in surrender. “That was all Felicity.”
It was cute how they all thought whispering would keep Slade and Oliver from hearing them.
Felicity grinned, “Mr. T, we pity you, fool.”
“That was funny the first fifteen times you said it!” Curtis squawked indignantly.
Slade placed a grounding hand on the back of Oliver’s neck once the elevator closed. They’d been walked in on too many times in the Arrow Cave for their relationship to be a secret anymore, and neither of them were shy about displaying affection, but Oliver desperately needed some privacy right now.
As well as a bath.
Once they got home, Oliver sifted through his soap collection while Slade got the water nice and warm. Slade couldn’t blame him for hoarding them all. It was a wonder he also didn’t collect soap after the island.
Coconut Medley was written with loops and swirls on the one Oliver eventually selected. The label showed a scene of a stereotypical palm tree and a beach with an empty towel shaded by an umbrella. The smell crackled against Slade’s nose like sugary fireworks. It was too sweet for the island. Lian Yu smelled like bugs feasting on them, leaves and twigs betraying their position, gunfire and shouting hunting them down, friends dying, flesh burning and scarring.
So Slade was glad Coconut Medley smelled nothing like the island.
Oliver sighed as he sank into the tub, unashamed to strip bare in front of Slade. They’d seen each other naked plenty of times before they’d even conceived of pursuing a relationship. Lian Yu laughed at modesty.
Oliver gathered up a lather to fix his hair. It had become stuck together in oily bundles. Slade liked it long, but he didn’t begrudge Oliver for wanting a haircut: eliminating as many reminders of the island as possible. For Slade, it reminded him of running his hands through one of the few gentle things there.
Slade brought Oliver a towel: one of the fluffier ones that would soothe his skin. Oliver didn’t have any new scars—thank god—but Slade had noticed purple and green splotches.
“I’ll be reading in bed.”
Oliver stopped lathering himself up, “…Okay.”
It was like the whisper of a ghost: barely there and more air than voice.
“Oliver,” Slade relished the rare luxury of looking down at him. “What do you need?”
“…Bath.”
“Anything else?” Slade asked patiently.
“You.”
“Alright then, I’ll just stay and enjoy the view.”
Oliver smiled for the first time since when Slade last saw him: three days ago. Something Diggle said. Slade couldn’t remember anymore.
Slade sat down next to the tub. He couldn’t say Oliver was 100% peaceful, but he was in the ballpark of eighty percent.
Once Oliver stopped scrubbing himself to shut his eyes to soak up the warmth, Slade reached over to stroke his hair. His lips cracked open to push out a small oh.
“Like that?”
Oliver hummed.
They remained like that until Slade warned him that he was in danger of becoming a prune. Oliver snorted yet reached forward to drain the water, standing up to towel off the water and soap.
Slade looked at Oliver’s squeaky-clean cheek, “Think I can shave with that mirror.”
Oliver chuckled and rolled his eyes, throwing the damp towel onto Slade’s head.
“Hey! I’m going as Shredder for Halloween, not a shitty sheet ghost!” Slade snickered as he got the towel in his hands. He waited until Oliver put on some boxers and sleeping pants—and then he caught himself a Hoodie! “Ahhh, gotcha!”
“Slade Wilson!”
“Oliver Queen…” Slade grinned.
Oliver wriggled in his hold, blinded by the towel. He squealed and kicked when Slade scooped him up and tossed him onto the bed. Oliver chucked the towel into the hamper just before Slade growled and tackled him.
“Ha!” Oliver glowed with smugness after Slade let Oliver roll them over. Any other night, Slade would roll them back over to remind him of his skill and strength, but tonight, the last thing Oliver needed was to be held down again.
Slade let him have his fun.
“Night, American,” Slade smooched his forehead.
Oliver got off him to settle under the covers, “Night, Aussie.”
Slade let him have his fun because Slade got to hold him during the night.