**A reminder that this book has a fanworks rating of E for Explicit. If you're just a baby, go away

There is no doubt in my mind that this girl is a virgin.

Rose Wilson has the sort of naivety that drives you away from her, because someone who has killed, ripped her own eye out and has the best mercenary in the world as a father should not be this frigid.

It's fine. I'm not trying to seduce here anything- and I could, but I won't. Taking advantage of her in that sense doesn't seem right.

Then again sitting in her living room mixing drinks and watching her face get pinker and pinker by the shot is just the beginning of tonight's plan. 

I'm already in their home. Rose had invited me over. It might seems strange to most, but this is how all alliances start is the sewer of Crime Alley. With a little friendly get together.

"I killed a fly with a bullet once. Have you ever done that? You should try it," she slurs, shoulders pressed back against the beaten up sofa.

"Can't say I have," I respond, watching the insect which had inspired that line buzzing up into the mildew-infested corner. Here we don't have the initiative to be ashamed of our home. We're all in the same boat. "So, where's your dad tonight?"

Having fed her shot after shot alongside a couple of mixers, I know it is safe to talk about him because she won't remember. And in this state she is so vulnerable that she'll tell me anything, desperate for the approval of an older girl.

"Out, collecting money-y," she responds. Her eyes are drooped and she has this seemingly permanent smile on her face. 

"I see."

Rose looks at me and nods for some reason.

Then just like that, her eyes slide shut and her head falls forward. She ends up hunched over the coffee table. 

"Poor thing," I smile, petting her gleaming white hair, "Don't worry, I'll teach you how to build your tolerance," I whisper a bit away from her because she's still slightly conscious, "When I'm your stepmom." 

The sound of heavy footsteps and keys alerts me to someone approaching the door. Excitement bubbles up inside me and I hit Rose a little to hard.

"Rose, your dad's home," I grab her attention and she bolts up, trying to fix her hair and wiping her mouth of drool. At least she has the mind for that.

When he opens the door I have to hold in an overexcited squeal. He's here. He's really here in the same room as me.

In civilian clothing he still manages to look like he could take down the bat with his pinky. His entire body screams thick and power from the muscles pulsing in his neck down to the tree trunk thighs. He puts the bat and Red Hood to shame in the width of his shoulders. The flannel jacket and jeans make him look as rugged as I please.

He shuts the door behind him and looks at Rose, briefly, before his eyes flicker to me. 

"Uh, dad, this is my friend, Cece," she says, gesturing to me.

"Jermaine?" He asks immediately, like warning bells are going off at my very name. That's kind of exciting.

"Yeah, why?" I respond before Rose can, lightening my voice to sound as cute as possible. I didn't pick these clothes by accident; the tiny shorts, the crop top, the extra sleek hair, the red heels, it's all a trap. "I mean, Rose can take care of herself against someone like me, right?"

Slade places the bags in his hands on the kitchen counter with an amused grunt, "Not what I was worried about."

"No?"

"No," he jerks his head towards her, "She can't hold her alcohol."

At that very moment, Rose keels over and empties her stomach all over the sofa with a loud moan.

"Oh honey," I feign, leaning over to hold her hair back. All according to plan.

"Jesus," Slade breathes. He comes around to Rose's other side as she babbles apologies in incoherent grumbles. I spin her around too fast on purpose and bam, she coughs up on my thin little top. Lucky this thing has a plastic layer underneath to keep it off of me. I groan in frustration. "Sorry kid, she should've warned you." He doesn't really sound sorry.

Slade lifts her up like she's nothing and heads out of the room. I quickly pull apart the lace which keeps the corset-like piece together. It falls away leaving behind nothing but a bra. Phase two of the plan complete.

When he steps back into the room he launches something at me. One of Rose's shirts, I imagine.

"You the one she's been texting? She told me you killed someone at the bar for her," he says, heading back to the kitchen. I can't read his stern face. It doesn't show anything like ease, or anything like cautiousness. There's no telling where this will go.

I look at the white shirt with the Rolling Stones logo on it with distaste.

"Yeah, she invited me over so I thought we'd get drunk together," I respond without looking at him. Holding the shirt up, it's dense and unisex like it's made to cover up all the fun.

Slade scoffs and cast his eye on me, "You're not drunk." Tossled hair, little stumbles and squinting eyes. It would fool anyone else. 

"Am s-"

"Only one of those," he interrupts, gesturing to the glasses and the bottles as he starts placing things in the kitchen cupboard, "have that pretty little shade you've got all over that mouth of yours. I'm guessing Rose drank the rest of them."

So intuitive. 

I can't help the little flicker of my eyes up and down his body, the slightest mischievous smile making it's way onto my face.

"Paying a lot of attention to my mouth, huh?"

Slade grunts, "So that's why you're here."

"No," I say lightly, still holding the shirt instead of putting it on as I perch myself on the arm chair. "I like her."

He scoffs again and I'm starting to get the impression he's really not taking me seriously, "She's my kid. I happen to know how unlikable she is."

"Like father like daughter?" I press.

He glances at me, unimpressed, "Something like that."

When he turns around again I jump off of the couch and saunter over to the kitchen.

"Well, it's true, I really do like her," he seems to give a little jump when I speak, turning around to watch me jump up and sit on the counter.

"You walk surprisingly quiet in those shoes."

"And now we're talking about my shoes?" I cross my legs and raise the top one, bouncing it slightly to catch his attention. It does, his eye trained on my legs- Cece's, the longest and most alluring. "And before we were talking about my lipstick. They the only things you want me to keep on?"

None of my words surprise him. He just keeps that same expression.

"You're certainly forward. Giving up the act?" His gaze turns back to my face.

"Are you?" I respond, jumping off of the counter to land in front of him with the loud clap of my heels barely cutting through the tension. In these six inches I come up to his chin. Even as I lean up to his face and get a closer look at the marred skin around the patch, the ageing lines and the crease in his brow, he doesn't flinch.

"No."

As if. 

"Oh," I say, not losing any of the composure, the same mischief still there, "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

My next action wasn't a part of the plan, but with him so close and the need so high, one little lick over his bottom lip in no big deal. It's enough of Aphrodite's poison to push his worries away and increase his need to do what he wants to do.

"Goodnight, daddy." And a cute little smile. His pupils dilate.

Phase three complete.

I turn around and pluck the white shirt off the counter. As I start towards Rose's bedroom I unravel it and hold it over my head to put it on.

"Don't."

The single word sends a shiver down my spine. I don't look back at him but I do throw the shirt that way. I imagine if I had put it on it's only going to get ripped off later.

Buzzing with excitement, I enter Rose's room to see her tucked up against the wall side of her bed. Aw. Slade does care.

I stay on top of the blankets and curl up on the very edge.

Phase four complete.

◊

◊

Slade has to readjust himself in more ways than one when Cece Jermaine swaggers off to Rose's room.

"Impressive," he murmurs to himself once he hears the door shut.

He takes his time opening the draw and grabbing a trash bag. He picks up the bottles and cans one by one, noting that he was, in fact, correct. Cece only drank from one Corona. Her red lip stain is left on the bottle.

Cece Jermaine. A Gotham drug dealer who works for no one but herself. She's doesn't get hired, so it's unlikely she was sent here to kill him on someone's accord.

So it was her own, then. Wanting to sleep with him rather than kill him.

After Adeline he has slept with most of the Cece Jermaines of the world. Street thots above selling their bodies but not above selling drugs. The kind of women worth conversation and good time for the same in return.

This situation seems to be no different.

So when the place looks less shitty than before, he switches all of the lights off and heads to his own room. The desk is strewn with an array of suspicious items. Slade rips the bottom layer sheet from the bed and throws it over the mountain of assassin paraphernalia and files. 

Nothing she needs to see.

He takes of his shoes and his jacket, leaving behind jeans and a shirt. He rolls his shoulders back once, checks for supplies and heads back out through the livingroom.

Rose is snoring softly, but he can still hear it from the other side of the door. When he pushes it open Cece appears to be asleep. She looks alluring with her knees tucked up just enough that her shorts leave nothing to the imagination over her ass. 

Nice, Slade thinks.

He goes to scoop her up, one arm behind her knees and the other behind her shoulders. Her eyes open with a smirk though and she reaches up and locks her own arms around his neck.

Slade goes with it and backs up enough so that she can turn and wrap her legs around his waist. He places one hand on the back and the other on her thigh. He lifts her up with ease and walks them out of Rose's bedroom. Cece pulls the door shut behind them.

"Knew it," she whispers against his lips, almost unable to see his one eye still relaying nothing. "Was it the name or the body?"

When he presses her down into his mattress there are strings of moonlight lighting up her features. For a moment Slade swears her eyes are pink, but when that thought crosses his mind he sees they are clearly a cold blue.

He could have sworn... 

"A mix of both," he states plainly.

Cece just grins, then surges forward, claiming his lips. She begins desperately clawing at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up so fast Slade thinks it might hurt if it weren't for his meta cells.

She's very excited for this. 

As she runs her hands all over him and wrecks his mouth with her tongue, he imagines her as a little girl with daddy issues who always wants older men to approve of her. Perhaps that is why she sought Rose out. Like most she heard about big bad Slade Wilson and decided he'd make the perfect father figure.

Kind of fucked up. 

Either way, "Slow down baby girl." He pins her wrists to the bed and that seems to merely spur her on.

"Why?" She asks, drawing back to wink at him. A trail of saliva connects their lips. "Am I going too fast for you, old man?" Cece jerks her head to the side to break it.

As she does, her gaze catches a file on the dresser. Not the desk which Slade had so cleverly covered with a sheet. The dresser with nothing but a folded pile of clothes and a gun on it.

And the file Slade had beaten her to in Ukraine. 

The plan changes.

Determined now to exhaust him to the point where she can wake up first and get the file out before he rises, Cece flips them, shuffling back down his body and immediately reaching for his belt.

"You think I can't keep up, brat?" He snaps gruffly, throwing her bra to the side once he snaps it off.

"Sorry daddy, that was mean," she grins, then slides his belt out and holds it up, "Do you want to punish me for it?"

Slade groans and almost bucks her off with a thrust of his hips. Cece laughs and dives her hand back to his fly, tearing his jeans apart, desperate to see him.

She can tip him over the edge twice, surely. That's all she has to do. Just that, and he'll be so tired he won't even know that the assassin Aphrodite just gave him the best night of his life.

Maybe, she isn't entirely okay with that.

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