By the time they reached adulthood very few heroes believed that a person could be pure evil or pure good. Black and white were simply colors.
As was gray.
Dick Grayson had seen evil, had experienced good, but mostly he dealt with villains who were too complex to be either. Life was too complex.
And certainly the man sitting next to him on a cliched bearskin rug staring into the flames on the hearth in an isolated cabin in the Alps was a jumble of bad and good deeds and emotions and thoughts.
It was only when the gray in him lightened that Dick could allow this to happen between them--despite wanting to be with him all the time. It didn't make it easier to reconcile the wrong things he did, the evil he committed, but he had to hope that the innate goodness in the man would eventually stay in the fore.
A whack on the side of his head made him grunt and glare at Slade Wilson, noting the twinkle of amusement in the one blue eye.
"What was that for?"
"Stop thinking such deep thoughts, Grayson. Your brain can't handle the strain."
Dick rolled his own eyes. "Funny." A calloused hand captured his knee, roamed slowly up his thigh, and his breath caught in his throat. "I was thinking of the nature of good and evil." Lips found his throat, the brush of the goatee making him groan in pleasure at the prickling on his skin. "Black hats, white hats, that kind of..."
"Grayson, shut up." A hand wrapped around the base of his cock, a thumb stroking up the shaft, and Dick gulped and leaned back on his hands, his eyes staring into the red and gold flames.
Maybe some color was what the world needed.
...Slade was right, his brain really couldn't handle the strain. He really needed to stop thinking about colors and...
That glorious red mouth on his finally shut down his mind.
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