"You'd have to see it to believe it." Jason looks up from where he's bent over, pulling off his second boot. He hesitates, stuck for a moment as you approach.

"I made dinner," you say, bending over and tilting your head almost upside down to meet his eye. You grin. "How do you feel about tacos?"

You feel your shirt slip down from this angle, your lower back and stomach exposed. Jason glances at your exposed skin.

"Um." He finally gets his shoes off and stands at his full height. His eyes are on your shirt. More specifically, they're on your legs, and he's trying hard to hide that fact, which you find endearing. "Uh..."

You raise your eyebrows. "I didn't know that was such a hard question."

He looks at you, cheeks a little red. "Tacos are good. Is that my shirt?"

It's his shirt, yes. His red Gotham Knights shirt.

"Yeah, I didn't do laundry yet. Is it okay if I wear it?"

Jason nods once. "Yeah. Yup. Fine. Good."

"Okay. Wanna eat now?"

He's still staring. "'Kay."

"Okay..."

You go to the kitchen, conscious of Jason at your heels and his eyes on you. You try to assemble dinner without thinking anything of it, but Jason's gaze has always been intense. It's like you're being tracked by the Red Hood. Definitely a Wayne thing—all of them have gazes you can feel.

Jason crowds you near the sink, his eyes so obviously not on your face.

"Jay," you say, voice light. "Do I have something on my butt?"

"Whuh?" He looks up, eyes wide. "No."

"Could've fooled me with how you're staring at it."

"I'm not staring at your... I'm, um, just looking at ya. I can't look atcha?"

"You can. Of course you can. I enjoy it when you do. But I'm feeling a little hunted, dude."

"Oh." Jason swallows and turns his head. He starts to slink away, probably to sulk. "Sorry."

Now that's odd. Jason should know you're only teasing. There's no reason for him to legitimately feel guilty.

You turn off the faucet and stand in front of him before he can disappear. "Hey, I'm kidding. If you wanna gaze at me lustfully, you can."

"I've just never seen you wear my clothes before," Jason says. "It's... new."

Ah. You may not be Batman, but you can take a hint. You drift closer, walking him so you're pressed against the kitchen island and he's all but on you. Jason lets you, looking like he's just broken a vase and is doing a poor job of hiding the mess. He's currently locked onto your exposed collarbone, the stretched out neckline of his shirt hanging low on you.

"Jaylove," you say sweetly. You reach for him, your fingers tracing his cheek and the corner of his mouth. "Do you like me wearing your clothes?"

"I didn't—I never realized how big they'd be on you. The sleeves are, like..." he trails off, picking up the edge of one sleeve, in a daze. Then he grimaces, looking at you. "That's weird, right? Me liking this? I'm sucha creep."

"Jason, I asked you to maul me last week. I think we're past shame."

He shakes his head. "Au contraire, baby. I was never past shame. It's the vigilante special."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, honey. Well, try to accept the fact that thinking I'm hot in your clothes is tame, as far as attraction goes. I'm not complaining."

His hands go to your waist, marveling at your size difference. Jason rarely buys tight fitting shirts either, so something that's loose on him is surely loose on you.

"And the star of the show." You lift the shirt to show Jason's red plaid boxers. You slightly snap the waistband against your skin.

"Oh," he articulates.

You smile, easing him forward with your arms around his neck. Jason catches himself on the counter behind you, hands on either side of you. You pull him closer, letting him fit between your legs.

"I'm yours, sweetie. I love how you smell. Love feeling you near me all day while I'm wearing your shirt."

He shudders, bunching up his shirt against your skin in fistfuls, his nose on your neck. "Y'gonna smell like me. So pretty in my clothes. You should wear 'em all the time."

You bite your lip to suppress a giggle at how easy your boyfriend is. Maybe you're a little easy too. "Oh, yeah? Want me to keep your boxers on while you touch me? Want me to get 'em wet?"

Jason moans, pressing you harder against the counter, his fingers digging into your back. "You can do anything. Oh m'God. Get 'em wet, please. Can't believe you like me."

"Like you?" You rake your fingers through his curls. "Baby, I love you."

He nips your neck and hoists your leg over his hip so he can press closer to you. "Yeah. Yeah, love y'too. So much."