It’s Loving Kaidan Alenko Hours

How the fuck did Vanessa cheat on this man?

You’d known Dick ever since he and Vanessa were in the early stages of dating around two years ago, and you hated to admit it, but he was one objectively sexy man. Who was sat there with a cappuccino in a local Blüdhaven coffee shop, looking the most tortured you’d ever seen him, over a girl who cheated, nonetheless.

You sipped your latte. “You look like shit, Dick.” Your voice was softer than intended. Maybe a portion of you felt bad. “What’re you thinking?”

He scrubbed his face. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t mean to drag you out here to sit in silence, I’m just… confused. How could she— did I do something?”

You sat forward in your seat, raising an eyebrow, sighing. “Really?” You clicked your tongue noncommittally. “You’re gonna blame yourself for this? Dick, you got her expensive jewellery to ask her to be your girlfriend, you were pretty fucking perfect.” He’d done the research. Seen what colour jewellery she wore, if she preferred gold or silver, her birthstone, what cut, how long, and got it custom made. If he did anything wrong, you’d be surprised. “It’s her fault.”

He looked sceptical. He even let out a disbelieving scoff, like you were talking bullshit. “You don’t seem heartbroken. Like, at all.”

You shrugged, stirring your latte with a wooden stick. “If she can take him, she can have him. Carter couldn’t do anything without his mother’s approval anyway.”

His nose wrinkled. “Yikes. That sounds rough.”

"Why'd you offer to buy me coffee anyway?" His text had come out of nowhere, but he probably had his reasons. One or two at least.

His sigh was of defeat as he rubbed a sugar packet between his fingers, rubbing the back of his neck with another hand. “I just— you got caught up in my ex-girlfriend’s shit, and it felt unfair.”

You gestured to him. “You got caught up in my ex best friend and my ex-boyfriend’s shit, so arguably, I should be paying for this.”

“But I already paid.”

“So let’s go out for a drink sometime.” You shrugged. “I wanted to get wasted and forget about this anyway, might as well take you with me.”

His grin was blinding, the kind of thing Vanessa used to giggle about when she first met him. “A little too soon to go out for drinks, huh?”

“It’s a proposition.” You laughed, shrugging. “Drinks on me. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Dick had been used to fancy hotel bars, at least whenever Bruce had thrown parties with bars included. The ones where the bartenders wore suits and ties with top shelf liqueurs.

He felt a sort of thrill when you dragged him into a bar on the corner of 6th, one with dim, flickering warm lights that clashed with blue and purple ones. The bartender wore plaid, spoke in a thick Boston accent, had an unkempt five-o’clock shadow. The bar top was wooden and chipped, and on the makeshift dance floor were plenty of drunk people grinding on each other.

“Oh, this is amazing,” He couldn’t help but smile widely, turning to you. “There are places like this in Gotham?”

“Yes, Mr Trust Fund— Scott!” You flagged down the bartender. “Can we get a round of shot roulette?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Scott flashed you a smile, wiping down a glass before heading to set up the shot roulette.

Dick turned to you, leaning on the bar slightly, tracing the wood grain with his finger. “So, you come here often?”

You perched yourself on a barstool, prompting him to do the same. Something that sounded like 50 Cent was playing on the speakers in the corners, bass thrumming in the back of your mind. “Oh, all the time. Best place in Gotham.” The shots were slid in front of you, and you both grabbed the glass and chucked it back, both of you humming. “Huh.”

“Kind of… fruity.” He mused, staring at the shot glass, putting it down. He glanced at you through his stupidly long and pretty lashes, clearing his throat. “How did you find out that… never mind.”

You chased the alcohol down with water. “I got a photo of a girl fucking Carter.” You scoffed lightly. “I saw a tattoo on her upper thigh that I’d paid for when we were in college.”

He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. “Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry— she just came clean to me. Maybe after you found out.”

“It’s not your fault.” You said lightly, waving your hand. “It’s theirs. They couldn’t keep it in their pants, Vanessa had a great, hot guy and she lost him, so…”

He couldn’t help his soft smile. “You’re gorgeous too, you know. Carter doesn’t know what he lost.” His eyes flicked down, to your lips, then to a barely working lightbulb like a moth would. But you caught it.

Your teeth snagged your bottom lip.

Vanessa made a huge mistake.

Dick’s hand was firmly on your jaw, leaned over the centre console of his Bentley so his lips could slot easily against yours. Your hand was carding into the floppy strands of his hair, swallowing each other’s heavy breaths. His cologne was deliciously clouding your senses, the hand not on your jaw reaching behind you to grab at your ass, squeezing, teasing your bottom lip with his warm tongue. His mouth separated from yours to burn down your neck, laving your pulse, pressure on your jaw gone in favour of tugging your shirt down over one shoulder to palm your tits over your bra.

“Your apartment is,” You paused to moan quietly, tugging his hair as a keep going, “literally right there. We can — fuck — get comfy.”

He nodded into your neck, brushing your skin with his lips one more time before looking you in the eye. “Good idea.”

You couldn’t remember how you actually got into his apartment, but you did remember stripping him of his clothes and pushing him down onto his bed, unclasping your bra. He hummed, biting his lip. “I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.” You breathed, your breathing stuttering as you ground your panties-covered pussy over his boxers-covered cock.

His hand slid over the back of your neck, encouraging you closer. “Let’s send them a photo,” He murmured, pecking your lips, his nose rubbing against yours. “You know. Revenge.”

Your hand was already scrambling for your phone, switching to selfie mode just as he smashed his lips to yours, your thumb hitting the circular button and taking the photo. “Good?”

“Yeah, fuck, that’s hot,” He nodded, tugging you so he could kiss you, middle finger reaching down to rub at your entrance over your panties. “You’re soaked, shit, sweetheart,” He reached up and tugged, sliding down the lace covering your pussy with his pointer until they slipped off, lazily chucking your panties into the corner of his room. “C’mere.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you till your pussy was right above his mouth.

Wait what— fuck.

His mouth wrapped around your clit as two fingers pushed into your cunt, practically sucking his fingers in, dear God. Your head fell back, mouth dropping open as a surprised moan left you, hand shooting to grip his hair. He groaned, deep in his throat, other hand pressing on the small of your back to encourage you to grind your clit on his tongue that was circling and pressing on your clit.

“O—Oh, Dick—”

“Yeah, that’s right, give it to me, baby.” He moaned, yanking his fingers out, and just before you could protest at the loss of anything filling your aching pussy, he thrusted his tongue into you, flicking at your clit with his thumb, his nose bumping occasionally against you. The taste of you on his tongue made him want to sing your praises, but it came out muffled, the vibrations making your hips twitch and eyes roll back.

Repeated cries of “yes” punctuated by your broken moans fuelled his ego and his already painfully hard dick. With your walls fluttering around his tongue fucking into you, he’d say you were fairly close.

A lot of things were going through your head. Like how this was a stellar pussy eating. How Carter refused to let any part of his face touch your vagina. How Dick was so willing and drinking your arousal up like it was the gods’ nectar.

You were coming on his tongue soon enough, pulling at his hair to make him moan and lap at your cunt faster, slicking his lips and chin.

A minute later, he was still kitten licking you clean, and as much as the stimulation made you stroke his hair and whisper praise, you needed to get a move on. So you pulled yourself away from his mouth, pulling down his boxers while he whined and pawed at your hips to try and bring you back.

“M’ not done— fuuuuck,” His head dropped back into the pillows, giving way for the weight, as you sank down onto his waiting cock. Your warm walls wrapping around him, making his head spin before he snapped into reality. His hands took hold of your hips again, helping you move on him, thumbs kneading your skin as you dragged up and down his dick.

He hadn’t felt like this before. Your lips were on his neck, leaving kiss prints on his skin, from his chest to his jaw and around his lips. Raising your phone and clicking a photo of his fucked-out grin as you rode him, thumb hovering over send to Vanessa.

“You ok with this?” Your voice was uncharacteristically soft, circumstantially breathy, your nails raking down his abs and making him shiver.

He grabbed the phone, pressed send himself, propping himself up so he could take one of your tits into his mouth, sucking to stifle his shamelessly loud moans. Wasn’t working. “Mhm— ride my fucking dick, gorgeous,” He gasped between switching to your other tit, laving over your skin with his tongue. “Just like that, so perfect, honey.”

His mouth running away with him told you he was close, his thumb reaching to rub circles on your clit propelled you that much further, but you refused to come twice before he had even once, so you pulled his head away from your tits, bit his earlobe and sucked a mark behind his ear.

He shuddered and groaned your name, hot come spilling into you — morning after pill, here we come — and the twitch of his cock sent you straight after him, his mouth slamming sloppy into yours, gripping the back of his neck while his tongue slid over your lower lip and his lips following straight after.

You milked him for all he had, until you were both panting and he was staring up at you through his lashes like he wanted to fuck you on all fours. “Wanna go again?”

“We’ve got time.”

carter -> you carter : c'mon, baby, let's talk about it you know i love you she didn't mean anything i swear i can't live without you sweets you : she's busy. carter : doing what???? who is this ??? you : fucking me. it's dick, btw ;) carter : vanessa's ex? you piece of shit give the phone back to her [ blocked ]

vanessa -> dick vanessa : you're really gonna throw years away for that bitch ?you're mine i want you back let's talk about this i miss you so bad we can go to couples counselling, work on our problems together you weren't really fulfilling my needs, i had to look out for myself dick : for a guy who wasn't 'fulfilling your needs' nessie he sure was fulfilling mine vanessa : youre such a bitch to think you were my best friend fucking my EX ??? could you go any lower ?? dick : *you're vanessa : UGH

When he finally makes a move and take you out, you realize he likes getting you all flustered, he gets off on it. Jason’s dominating, controlling, and he likes seeing how quickly you submit to him. It takes no effort, you turn into his pathetic baby girl in a matter of seconds, all it takes is a look.

A couple weeks of dating, the first time you both are in the batcave alone, you’re leaning against the desk of the batcomputer with a tech pad in hand. You can feel his presence before you even look up, breath hitching when you catch a whiff of his cologne that makes your quiver in want.

You swallow thickly, slowly raising your glance to meet his dominant stare. You realize immediately that he has you trapped, against the desk with nowhere to escape his attention.

“Just you and me now,” Jason rasped, noticing you swallowed thickly at his words. You don’t even try to size him up or escape, you’re frozen like a deer in the headlights. God, you’re fucking adorable.

“Are we?” and dumb, so fucking dumb.

Jason huffed out a pity laugh, his tongue sliding across his lips as he took one last step towards you. You could feel him against you, his body heat radiated off of him.

It’s not the first time he’s been this close. You’ve kissed him before, you’ve hugged him, but for some reason, your brain just short circuits when Jason Todd within a foot of you.

Jason reached his hand up to brush the tips of his finger along your cheek,”I bet there isn’t a fucking thought in that dumb fucking brain of yours right now that isn’t about me, is there?”

His feather light touch continues across your jaw slowly, achingly. Jason watches how you hitch your breath when dipped his head down, his hand cupping your jaw with thumb grazing your lips teasingly,”You’d let me do just about anything to you, wouldn’t you, hm, silly girl?”

There’s just something about how heated your cheeks get, how wides those pretty eyes go that make Jason feel empowered. Maybe it’s because he knows you like it too.

Now, take that, and dial it to a hundred because once you start to feel truly comfortable, you’re diving into his domination. You know what you want, he’s freed you in that way, shown you what you like, and you want to submit.

When Jason starts to corner you now, you still get flustered, especially when he reminding you of what dumb slut you are for, only for him. Except now you can play into it.

Jason loves head, especially when you’re on your knees staring up at him like he’s the powerful man in the world. And you know what? In that moment, he is to you.

Facefucking 🤤🤤🤤 It’s his favorite, Jason loves grabbing the back of your head and shoving his cock in your mouth until you’re drooling around him.

He would be a big fan of you laying on the bed with your head at end. Jason stands over you, so tall and powerful with cock hovering over your face. He would definitely love seeing his cock against your gorgeous face, admiring how you part your lips and gaze up at him from upside down.

He can just slip right between your pretty lips, enveloped the wet, warmth of your mouth. He loved being able to see the bulge of his cock in your throat with each thrust. “Fuck, babe, this mouth is fucking sinful, it’s like you were made for me, my perfect little cocksleeve.”

You just moan around his length, and Jason feel every vibration — and he fucking loves it!

Jason always getting head, he never says no to it, he always suggesting it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t spend a fair amount of time between your thighs. His favorite thing is you being flustered, of course, he spends hours pulling you apart this way.

He commits to it, though, once he starts, he can’t stop until you’re shaking, trying to close your legs around him because “Jay, I-I can’t…it..it’s too much,” You heaved, hands yanking at his hair while your thighs closed around him.

He leaned up just barely, your juices glistening from his redden, swollen lips. His smirk reeks of confidence,”One more,” He purred, arms wrapping around your thighs to pry them apart.”You wanna be good for me, don’t you, princess?”

Jason never let you hide, absolutely not, you try to be quiet and he’ll fuck you harder, faster, rougher until you’re screaming. He wants to hear and see the impact he has on you. He’s addicted to how bashful you get.

You try to hide your face behind your hands when he’s railing you, and it just ends with them pinned to the mattress or tied above your head.

Jason does not play fair either. He’s a big tease. He has hella patience and can tease you for however he pleases, riling you up all he wants and you are always at his mercy.

He does have a big weakness and it’s those sweet kisses you leave all over his body. Jason will lay awake at night thinking about your soft lips against his hot flesh, covering every scar from the massive scar on his chest to the smaller, newer ones.

When he pulls you close in public, sometimes you rest your head against his chest and just absentmindedly place a kiss over his pec through his shirt. Suddenly, he’s a bit distracted. He’s tilting your head up and connecting your lips for a couple seconds. I don’t think he would be too big on pda, but as soon as you both are alone or in your own little corner, he’s pouncing on you like prey.

I think anytime you try to actually tease Jason like he teases you, you end up with more than you bargain for. It’s like playing with fire.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, baby, sure you can take the consequences?”Jason challenged with a raised brow, towering over you in the safety of your apartment. You were defying him, actively defying him because he told you to wait, that he’d make you cum so many time as soon as he came back from patrol. But you whined but jason, you already went out on patrol, can red robin take care of it?? i need you. and he still managed to get dressed in his full uniform, about to go out when he came back out of bathroom to find you in his favorite lingerie.”Think your next move out very carefully, princess.”

“You can go,”You shrugged, tilting your head up at him in a moment of confidence,”I’ve got a vibrator for a reason.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, so does the confidence, you’re absolutely horrified because one, you’ve never admitted to anyone you owned a vibrator, and two, you never talk back to him.

Jason’s eyes darkened with fiery lust,”You little slut, my cock not enough for you?”He teased, seizing you when you tried to flee. He chuckled at how you hid your face in his chest,”Is that what you do? Wait for me to leave so you can fuck yourself on your toy, hm? What a dirty girl, and here I thought I was ruining you but you’ve always been a fucking whore, haven’t you?”

He smirked at how you whined, his fingers find the bottom of your chin and force you to meet his eyes.”You win, princess. I’m gonna have this pussy drippin’ in cum by the time ‘m done with you.”

The night ends with you both sweaty and panting, his back is marked up from your nails which is one of his favorite things. You’ve got bite marks on your thighs that match the ones on his shoulders 😉 and you’re both just so fucked out that you can’t even remember the embarrassment from before.

Jason would definitely take good care of you afterwards, he’s secretly just a big teddy bear and I think he likes to hold you close after thoroughly fucking you until you see stars.

He also loves to sleep with his head on your chest with his hand splayed under your shirt either on your stomach or sometimes you wake up with his hands subconsciously resting on your tits.

I think he’s a big fan of spooning too, and just feeling your whole body against him, you just fit so perfect against him. 🥺🥺 Spooning almost always ends up in morning sex so if that’s the position you end up in the morning, you know what to expect.

So startled was an understatement when you felt a calloused hand grasp your ankle and pull you closer. You yelped, and the rumbling chuckle that answered as he rubbed your thighs before resting his head- his heavy ass head on the swell of your ass, made you groan.

"Jay- I don't-"

"Comfy," he protested, bending his head to nip the back of your thigh with his teeth.

"I'm not-"

"You are though," he hummed, and you can hear him contemplating just how likely he is to get into trouble for tearing your panties to get them out of his way. So he could admire the masterpiece he was currently laying on. "Perfect." he murmured, testing the waters, tracing the swell with his fingertips lovingly.

You hum quietly to yourself, collecting the books you’ve strewn across your apartment, a steady collection growing in your arms. 

The black hoodie you’re wearing sweeps past the soft expanse of your thighs, stretching past your fingertips. You won’t comment on the fact that it still smells like lavender and bergamot, won’t comment on the fact that you’re secretly glad he didn’t take it back from you, won’t comment on the fact that it’s actually—

Someone knocks politely at your door. 

You blink, relaxing your fingers from where they’ve tightened around the book spines before walking to the door, carefully balancing the stack of books as you swing the door open. 

“Hey.”

You look up into Dick’s eyes, a soft blue illuminated by the glowing sun behind you. 

How pretty. 

“Hi.” You pull the door open wider, letting him come through the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

Dick reaches over, warm hands brushing yours as he takes the stack of books in your hands. “I wanted to ask if you would be down to grab some froyo with me.”

You direct him towards a small bookcase in the back of the room, carefully reshelving the books. “Yeah, I’d love to.” You stick the last book into the shelf, clapping your hands free of dust. “You know me, I do love my sweet treats.”

Dick smiles, soft and earnest. “Yeah. I know.”

He takes a small step back, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in your clothes. “Is that my hoodie?”

You freeze. Dick watches you innocently, unable to hide the smile forming on his face. 

You cross your arms over your chest, staring out the window. “You gave it to me, remember?”

He holds up his free hand in surrender. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to ask for it back.”

You squint at him. 

Dick laughs lightly, the sound matching the warmth of your apartment, settling itself nicely within the corners of the room. Your heart jumps a little at the sound.  

“It looks good on you, that’s all.” He turns on his heel, already halfway to the door. “So, froyo?”

You nod, dutifully ignoring the heat on your cheeks — definitely not from the sun — and follow him out, slipping your sneakers on as the door closes quietly behind you. 

x. 

Your frozen yogurt tower sits on the scale next to Dick’s, though his looks meager in comparison. Sprinkles, chocolate covered pretzels and mochi, fresh fruit and Rice Krispies scatter across the top of yours, while Dick’s has nothing but some fresh fruit and a whopping three gummy bears. 

He raises an eyebrow. “You weren’t joking about your sweet tooth.”

You roll your eyes, smiling at the cashier as she sticks a spoon into your frozen yogurt tower. “And you are the liar, you said you like the sweet stuff.” 

You reach for your wallet as the cashier turns the iPad around, but Dick gently shakes his head, pushing your hand away. “My treat.”

You hesitate, fingers still wrapped around your Dior card holder before nodding, forcing yourself to let go of the sheepskin leather accessory. 

He hands you your cup, the blue plastic spoon stuck precariously in the frozen yogurt mountain. “By the way,” Dick’s cheeks turn a soft shade of red when his fingers brush the tips of yours accidentally, “I didn’t lie. I do like sweet things.”

You gesture towards his small frozen yogurt cup. “Your froyo says otherwise.” 

“I just have a strict diet.” He admits sheepishly, guiding you towards a window seat. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

You pull your spoon out your mouth. “Well, that’s no fun. Life is short, you should enjoy all the yummy things it has to offer. Like frozen yogurt, ice cream, candy—“

“Vanilla?” 

Dick offers the word quietly, swirling his spoon around  his frozen yogurt concoction. 

You pause, spoon held mid-air. 

It all comes flooding back to you, your cheeks unbearably warm. 

Tastes like vanilla?

“Yeah.” You clear your throat, averting your gaze. “Vanilla is good too.”

Dick hums, scooping a spoonful of frozen yogurt into his mouth, smiling knowingly. “That’s good. I really like vanilla.”

You engross yourself in trying to get the perfect bite — the right amount of froyo with sprinkles, a mochi, parts of a chocolate covered pretzel, fruit — all while ignoring the fact that everything you were eating was tasteless as the butterflies in your stomach took over. 

“Anyways,” Dick looks over at you, letting himself bask one last time in the shy look on your face before continuing. “I did have an ulterior motive today when I asked you out for some froyo.”

“Yeah?” You look up with mild interest, desperately hoping the heat on your cheeks was nowhere near visible on your face. “And what is that?”

The clouds part from outside the window, the warm sunlight shining through the thick plexiglass to illuminate the blue and pink plastic tables. 

You ignore the way Dick’s blue eyes seem to swallow you whole, heart pounding in your chest. The light illuminates them for a moment, his head tilted just right. 

You look back down at your cup, shoveling a spoonful of melting froyo into your mouth. How pretty.

“I wanted to talk to you about… the kiss?” Dick’s voice ticks upwards, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the plastic spoon. “If that’s okay with you.” 

You force yourself to smile. “Yeah, of course!” 

The smile plastered on your face begins to ache on your cheeks, but you keep your gaze steady on Dick. 

Here it comes. 

You brace yourself, stomach churning. You already knew what he was going to say — that it was a mistake, he shouldn’t have done it, that he didn’t know what he was thinking, that maybe you guys should just be friends or even friends with benefits—

“I like you.” 

You blink. “Huh?”

“Sorry that was–” He laughs awkwardly, looking away. “Wait, okay– so I do like you but I didn’t think it would come out like that.” Dick groans slightly, rubbing his eyes before he holds up his hand. “Hold on. I just need a minute to–” He glances at your dumbstruck face before sighing in defeat. “Yeah.” 

“Oh.” Your mouth opens and closes without a sound coming out. 

“Sorry.” Dick sighs again, “that wasn't super smooth or suave, was it?” 

You shake your head, a small laugh making its way out of your mouth. 

“Well, I meant it.” Dick clenches the cup slightly, the paper cup bending underneath his fingertips before he lets go, fingers flexing on the cold surface. “I do like you.” He glances up at you hesitantly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you that I do like you. And the kiss– I really liked it, probably a little too much, but–”

His cheeks redden and he coughs awkwardly into the crook of his elbow. “ Yeah. I just wanted you to know. You don’t have to do anything about it.” 

Your chest feels very warm right now. 

“Oh.” You focus on the slow collapse of your froyo tower, the toppings drooping down the side. “Okay.” 

DIck looks up at you. “Okay?” His eyebrows knit together, nervousness written all over his face. “Okay good?” He asks carefully, “Or okay like we should just never talk about this again and pretend like it never happened?”

You shake your head, laughing slightly. “No, no, I meant like okay, cool.” You swirl the spoon around in your cup before forcing yourself to take another spoonful. “I just didn’t think that was where this conversation was going?” 

Dick tilts his head. “What did you think we were going to talk about?” 

“Um…” You hesitate before answering, your voice low and whispered, barely heard over the noise of the froyo shop as a little league soccer team filed in. “I just thought maybe… you regretted it? That you were going to tell me it was a mistake or maybe you just wanted to be friends who also happened to kiss sometimes?” 

Dick snorts, despite himself before immediately shaking his head vigorously. “No, well, I mean if you wanted to be friends that did that, I would be down for it but–” he chuckles lightly again. “No, I don’t think any of those things. That's why I wanted to talk to you.” Dick’s blue eyes search your face, tracing over the curves of your cheeks and the slope of your nose. “I don’t regret anything. The kiss. You. I keep thinking about it actually.” 

Your stomach flips traitorously, the corners of your lips threatening to break out into a gigantic smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dick echoes. He shovels a spoonful of melting froyo into his mouth. “Really ruins my cool guy image, doesn’t it?” 

You laugh. “Well, for what it’s worth–” 

You bump your thigh lightly against his under the table. “I like you too.” 

Dick blinks before nodding. “Okay. perfect.” He nods again, keeping his blue eyes focused on his half empty froyo cup, feeling the heat crawl up his neck and his cheeks. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“You’re still trying to keep your ‘cool guy’ image right now, aren’t you?”

Dick coughs before shaking his head, hurriedly pushing the last spoonful of his frozen yogurt into his mouth. 

You hum and say nothing, but the smile on your face matches his all the same. 

x.

Dick swivels around in his seat, turning to face his group mates as Professor Smith continues to drone on and on, his monotone voice becoming nothing more than background drivel.

The powerpoint slide blown up behind them details bullet point after bullet point on their group project. The boy in front of Dick squints his eyes when Professor Smith accidentally bumps into his projector, the light suddenly blinding. 

“Jesus Christ,” He scowls, shielding his eyes from retinal damage. “Professor Smith needs to retire already.” 

Dick snorts, typing something on his laptop. “No kidding. I think he’s been here since the university was founded.” 

“I think he’s tenured.” The girl sitting next to Dick sighs, scrolling through her phone, “He’s never leaving the school.” 

“Yeah.” The boy snorts, glancing over at Dick. “He’s gonna be haunting the hallways, moaning something about management information systems.” 

Dick shudders, laughing softly. “The horror. Real scary stuff.” 

“Anyways, I was thinking if everyone was free right now, we could meet up at the library for a bit? Like an hour or two, start drafting out what to do and everything and then meet up again maybe on saturday or same time next week.” The girl next to Dick smiles at the two boys. “What do you think? By the way, I’m Audra.” 

“James.” He gives her a thumbs up. “I’m free. Sounds good to me.”

Dick nods, reaching for his phone to take a photo of the projector slide. “Dick — and I’m down for the meeting after this.” 

“Cool.” Audra smiles, looking up towards Professor Smith as he dismisses the class. “Perfect timing because we just ended.” She shoves her laptop into her bag before looking expectantly at the two men who sit there, dumbstruck. “Get moving!”

James and Dick exchange a glance, the corner of Dick’s lips twitching upwards on one end, pulling it into an uneven smile before he puts his laptop into his bag, swinging it over his shoulder with James following suit. 

He falls into step with James, the two of them filing down the stairs with the rest of the kids in the class murmuring complaints over the group project while Audra waits impatiently outside the doors, bouncing up and down on her tiptoes.  

Something tugs at him, forcing him to glance up from where he’s stepping carefully down the stairs.

Then he sees you. 

You’re walking past the doors of his lecture hall, your straw stuck in your mouth as you slowly sip on your half-drunk coffee. You don’t look up at first, too engrossed on your phone but Dick watches you anyways, the strange tug in his chest growing stronger with each second. 

Like his body knows you before his brain does.

You glance up briefly, soft eyes illuminated by the sun shining in through the window before they land on Dick’s.  

You pause. 

He raises his hand, soft and tentative, a small, hopeful half-wave. 

You lift your hand, fingers wiggling. You weave through the crowd, the golden rays of the sun following behind you as they illuminate your path closer and closer towards him. 

Dick doesn’t even remember Audra and James are with him, the entire world narrowing as you lean against the doorframe, swirling your coffee cup in your hand. 

“Hi.” You smile. 

“Hey.” Dick says back easily, his hand automatically reaching for yours. His fingers find yours, squeezing your free hand once before sliding your longchamp off your shoulder to swing over his. 

Audra watches the two of you, eyes shining before she clears her throat lightly. Dick blinks before turning around to face his two group members like he’s in a trance.

“Hi.” She greets you before looking over to Dick. “Is this your girlfriend?” 

Dick glances at you once before nodding, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah.” 

You smile before leaning into his touch. 

“I’m Audra and this is James.” She cocks her head towards the blonde haired boy, who jerks his head towards you in greeting. “Yo.” 

“We’re going to the library to do a group project.” Audra continues, eyes flicking back and forth from the dopey smile on Dick’s face to your finger absentmindedly tracing nonsensical shapes on his forearm. “Do you want to come with?” 

Dick carefully slips your hand into his, squeezing once then twice. 

The sun crawls up your body, warm and comforting, but nothing is warmer than the way Dick watches you, the corner of his eyes crinkled as the three people wait patiently for your answer. 

“Yeah.” You answer, shifting closer to Dick. Audra smiles, bouncing away towards the stairs with James following behind closely, listening as she chatters on about citations and deadlines. 

You glance down at your intertwined hands before looking down the hallway, walking behind the two people. 

Dick doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time. 

But despite everything, after a few hours of work that may or may not have been legitimate, the vent coughed out a dust bunny the size of a small mouse before cool air finally filled the store again. You thought, for a very dramatic moment in your relief, that you must owe the repairman your first born.

Jason had lingered even after the repairman left, he said nothing to you about payment. You figured that meant it must have already been figured out between him, Jason, and the guy with tools.

You had learned a lot about Jason since he started hanging around the shop. Well … not a lot. But you have learned a few things. Like how he made learning about him almost infuriatingly difficult. And that his middle name was Peter, which came up in a conversation about how many people hate their middle names. He had said he didn’t mind his, and when you asked you were surprised he actually gave it to you. You learned he was a Leo, which he told you he only knew because he had been talking to a girl back in high school who was really into that stuff.

After the air conditioner had been fixed, you had sorta expected your … whatever you had with Jason to fade out. His guy with tools sent a guy to fix the appliance, his binding complaint had been resolved, and the ugly copy of The Brothers Karamazov had gone off to live whatever life ugly Russian novels got when they were bought by handsome mechanics with oil under their nails.

But on Thursday he was back. Sort of. He was sitting on the curb outside of the bookstore, far enough that he was not technically in the store’s space, but close enough you would see him from the large front window, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent with a paper-wrapped sandwich balanced on his knee. He was wearing his work shirt, dark fabric, sleeves rolled up, and the name of his shop patched over his chest. His hair was a little damp with sweat falling against his temple, smaller beads of sweat ran down his forehead.

You told yourself that you probably shouldn’t stare, then moved the stack of bookmarks to the side so you could stare in a way that you could stare while pretending to be concealed.

Jason took a bite of his sandwich and looked up. You caught his eye and immediately looked back down. When you risked another glance, he had turned again, back to facing forwards, still eating. Which was perfectly fine, people were allowed to sit and eat outside of businesses that had visited occasionally.

The bell above the door gave a weak jingle as an elderly man came in carrying a plastic bag full of old westerns. He was chatty as you sorted through them, explaining that his wife wanted the garage cleaned out. By the time he left, Jason was no longer sitting on the curb.

No more customers came in the rest of the day.

On Friday, Jason was back. Though this time he sat beneath the narrow, sun dull awning between your store and the empty building that used to be a laundromat next door. He had a plastic container instead of a sandwich, and he was eating with a fork he had probably brought for home.

You didn’t know enough about him to be assuming things about his forks, but you were anyway. It looked like a home fork, not the flimsy kind from a takeout place, or what might come in a pack of fifty or sixty and might be kept in the break room of a mechanic shop. And for some reason your brain latched onto the strangest possible detail. He brought his own fork.

You decided to update the chalkboard sign near the window, even though you had no ideas for what new message to write, and so far have only scribbled down NEW ARRIVALS !! and then right below that: BOOKS

You figured that was good enough for you. Jason looked up right around the time you were balancing the chalk on the top of the board. Instead of pretending you hadn’t been watching him from the corner of your eye the entire time you were outside, you raised your hand in a small wave.

He stared for a moment, like he hadn’t expected you to acknowledge him despite the fact he’s been sitting outside of your store the past two days. Then he lifted his fork towards you in response. A fork wave.

His shop was closed on Saturdays. You knew because he had told you once that everybody closed on Sunday, and how was he supposed to get any good business if his business was like every other one. So he closed on Saturdays.

But on Sunday, he was back again. And closer this time. Not directly in front of the store, but on the curb a few feet from the door, next to the newspaper box that had only held spiders and dust for years now. He had a paper bag next to him, and a paperback open. You recognized the book by the cover. The Big Sleep. The one with the administrative pages torn out.

The shop had been quiet all day. Cool and quiet, with Jason sitting outside reading during his lunch break. You decided to let that just be normal, and went about pricing the westerns from a few days before. It was almost relaxing.

“Your sign just says ‘books’.”

You startled so hard you nearly threw the paperback at him.

Jason stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his lunch bag and book in the same hand. The bell above the door was wobbling, but it had made no sound when he entered. If it had, it would have saved you from the scare.

“It does not” You protested “It also says new arrivals.”

Jason leaned back, hand gripping the doorframe to brace himself. “Nah. Just says books.”

“Well then, it must have gotten wiped off.”

When Jason stood upright again there was a delighted looking smile on his face. You weren’t sure why. He stepped further in, not too far, just lingering at an invisible line he decided not to cross.

“Are you on lunch ?” You asked. There was an obvious answer, of course

Jason nodded, “Shop’s loud today.”

“Is that unlike other days ?”

“Louder than usual.”

You nodded and Jason shifted his weight, the brown paper crinkling in his hand.

“You can sit, you know.” You told him, nodding towards the chair in the reading nook.

He looked at the green chair for a moment, “Don’t wanna make a mess.”

You considered him for a moment. “Those chairs have survived a lot. I don’t think your lunch will be what kills them.”

Jason looked at the chairs again, then at you. He did not go sit down. Instead he leaned against the frame again and opened the paper bag.

You place a price sticker on another western with the focus of a surgeon attaching a severed fingertip.

For the new week, Jason’s lunch break became a thing. Not officially. There were no plans, no announcements, or formal agreements. He never asked to come by, and you never invited him. He just showed up.

Sometimes he sat on the curb, sometimes he leaned against the bricks next to the window, sometimes he stood under the awning eating with one hand and reading with the others. Sometimes he came inside, but never any further than the doorway, as if that made his visits count less.

It was a summer rain that finally drove him all the way inside, his hair wet and a paper bag tucked under his arm.

“Bad weather,” he said

You looked up, past him at the rain tapping against the windows “It’s drizzling.”

“Drizzling is still weather”

You gave a firm nod, “Well, you got a point”

“You eat yet ?”

The question felt too sudden, it made you forget how to make a face.

“What ?”

“Lunch. You eat ?”

“Oh — No. Not yet.”

“Why ?” He asked

You shrugged. The real answer was that you forgot. Or you got busy. Or you kept telling yourself you’d eat after finishing just one more task, and then before you knew it, it was late in the afternoon and your body and brain felt like it was an overheated laptop running at one percent.

But that seemed like too much to give right now. And you did not have the energy to explain your poor eating habits.

So you just told him: “I had a tea”

He stared. “That’s not lunch.”

“It had milk.” You offered

“Still not lunch.”

Jason set the paper bag on the counter and stared at you again. You stared back before staring at the bag.

“What’s that ?”

“Food.”

“Well — Yeah. I figured that much. But —”

“Got too much.”

“Too much food ?” You asked

He nodded “For one person, yeah.”

You looked inside the bag. There were two wrapped sandwiches, two small containers of grapes, two napkins, and two cookies in clear plastic sleeves. You looked back up at him, and he suddenly found the shelf closest to him fascinating.

“Jason”

“Hm ?”

“This is two whole lunches …”

“Though I was gonna be extra hungry today. I was wrong.”

“There are two cookies.” You noted

“I’m a growing boy. Though I’d need two.”

“You’re like … At least six feet tall.”

“Exactly. That’s a lotta boy to maintain.”

“Are you gonna eat two lunches ?” You asked

“I could.” He answered

“I asked if you were going to.”

He didn’t say anything. That was a good enough answer.

You pulled one of the sandwiches from the bag, “Thank you.”

“Didn’t say it was for you.” He mumbled

“Of course not.” You said, peeling the paper back.

“It’s extra”

“Of course.”

“Over estimated how hungry I’d be today.”

“Obviously.”

He finally looked back at you. You smiled at him and he looked away again.

He ate leaning against the counter, on the side customers usually stood. You sat on the stool behind it, one foot tucked under your bum, trying not to eat too fast even though eating made you realize you were much hungrier than your body had told you.

“This is really good,” You said, because you were not sure what else to do with the feeling of being fed. And it was really good.

“It’s just a sandwich” Jason shrugged

“Right.”

It became a familiar rhythm, Jason would show up around noon with his lunch and a reason that was not really a reason, and with enough food to share. He would come all the way into the store now, but always stayed on the customer side of the counter.

You learned more about him, more little bits and pieces. You learned he didn’t care how his coffee was, he’d drink it black and so sweet it was hardly coffee anymore, though there were days he preferred the latter. He liked classics, old detective novels, and poetry sometimes. You learned he didn’t like when people dog-eared library books, but did it to his own with no issues.

The food he brought was always good. He had brought a pasta salad one time with little cubes of mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, and herbs that made you think maybe Jason was a better cook than he let on. That, or someone in his life was very good at forcing vegetables into his meals.

Eventually he stopped trying to pretend his extra food and frequent visits were coincidences or accidents. Not all the time, he still gave at least a slither of plausible deniability. But progress was made the day he came in and said, rather directly, “Got you a lemonade.” and set the cold bottle on the desk in front of you.

“Oh.” You said. An absolutely brilliant response “Thank you.”

It took three weeks of lunch breaks for Jason to end up behind the counter. It happened because a little boy who had come in with his mother discovered the crates of children’s books near the front window and developed the focused determination of a miner.

Books were pulled out of the crate one by one. Board books, foam books, picture books, early readers about dinosaurs, cardboard books that had definitely been chewed on. He sat in the middle of the cushy space and organized the books according to a system it seemed only he understood, all while his mother looked like she wanted to turn herself into dust, trying quietly to get her son to clean up his mess. The boy listened to none of it.

“It’s alright.” You said from your spot behind the counter “They’re there for kids to mess with them.”

The boy held up a book with a whimsical looking rabbit on the front “This one has no pants.”

Jason, who was leaning against the side of the counter with his lunch mostly untouched coughed into his hand. The boy’s mother covered her face.

The duo left the shop with the rabbit book and another picture book about crayons quitting their jobs. The mother apologized three different times about the mess, but still left with the children’s section looking as if a small bomb had gone off in it.

You stepped out from behind the counter with a small sigh, but Jason was already half way to the mess. You crouched down across from him, doing your best to sort the books in a way that was semi-organized but wouldn’t feel like too much work had gone to waste when it was inevitably messed up again.

For a minute or two you worked together in a comfortable silence, passing books between each other, silently agreeing who would handle which type of book. Jason’s hands looked too big around small covers, which should not have been so endearing.

He paused all of a sudden with a picture book in hand. You recognized it. A copy of Corduroy that was in near perfect condition. A rarity for the store.

He stared at the cover for a while, thumb brushing over the paper edges. “Used to love this one,” He mumbled

“Yeah ?”

Both of you were quieter than usual

He nodded, “Had a copy when I was a kid.”

“D’you still have it ?”

He shook his head.

“I liked that one too,” You said, returning to your piles, “I always felt worried about him being left in the store overnight.”

“Yeah” It was Jason’s version of agreeing with you.

The moment righted itself on its own as the two of you continued with the kid’s books.

“So. Do you have any siblings ?” You asked, usually when you asked a direct question Jason would answer with sarcasm, or an answer too vague. You wondered if he was being mysterious on purpose, or if he really was just that bad at opening up.

“Yeah. I got six.”

You thought he was being sarcastic again, but Jason has a very specific tone and face he used when he was messing with you. He did not have it this time.

“Christ — Were you parents rabbits !?”

That got you a laugh from Jason. Not a full one, but it was real. A good, solid ‘Ha’.

“No. I was adopted.”

Your brows raised, “Adopted ?”

Jason finished putting his piles of books into the crate and stood up. You followed close behind, and when you got back to the desk, Jason had somehow ended up on the wrong side. Not wrong, just not the side he usually went. He went a bit stiff when he noticed.

He offered to move. You told him too quickly that he was okay. But he relaxed, and he stayed. He pulled a stool up next to yours, old and wobbly, not built for someone like Jason. When he sat on it it creaked a bit, but held.

He unpacked the lunch he brought. Two containers of rice, with shredded chicken and roasted vegetables. The content of his container had a sauce over it. Yours did not. He slid a much smaller metal container across the counter towards you, along with a fork.

“Sauce is spicy. Dunno how you feel about that, so I put yours on the side.” He explained.

“Oh …” Another brilliant response.

You popped open the container, and out of instinct brought it up towards your nose to smell it. It smelled warm, with something a little spicy that hit the back of your nose. “It smells good” You said, mostly to yourself.

Jason hummed around a mouthful of food. You stirred the contents up before you began eating.

“So … Adopted.” You said, a few bites in. You were cautious, testing the waters. Just to see if he’d give you something more.

To your surprise, he nodded. “Yeah. Grew up in Crime Alley.”

You had heard of it, of course. Everyone who didn’t live under a rock had. It carried stories like its own weather forecast. People usually mentioned it in lowered voices, like the Earth might open up under them if it heard them mention it. But Jason had said it so casually, the way someone might tell you where they went to middle school.

“Oh.” You hated yourself immediately for only saying that

“It’s really not as dramatic as people make it sound.” He shrugged. “Anyways. Parents left the picture, was on the streets for a bit, was adopted later by some rich guy.”

“Some rich guy ?” You repeated

“Yeah.”

“That’s probably the least descriptive adoption story I’ve ever heard.” You teased

“Well, he was rich and he was a guy.”

“Did he find you in a basket by the river ?” You asked, half teasing.

“No. He caught me tryin’ to steal his tires.”

That seemed more surprising to you than the river option. “His tires ?”

Jason nodded “Yeah. I mean, dude had this fancy, expensive ass car just parked there. I couldn’t drive, or I’d have stolen the whole car, but I figured I could get something for the tire.”

“Did you bite him ?” You asked. You weren’t sure why. But the possibility did not seem too far off.

Jason laughed, “No. I told him not to bully me, and then he adopted me.”

“Just like that ?”

“Just like that. Like a damn stray dog.”

That made you laugh, and Jaosn loosened up.

“His name’s Bruce,” He told you after a second “Not a bad guy.”

The way he said it maybe made you think that somewhere along the lines somebody had accused Bruce of being a bad guy. Or maybe it was Jason who had done it, and regretted it later.

“Did he adopt all of your siblings too ?” You asked

“Most. Youngest is his bio kid.”

You nodded, “That makes sense. Are you the oldest ?”

“Third oldest, but second adopted.” He answered. “Got an older brother, an older sister – she’s not older by much though. A younger sister, and three younger brothers.”

“How did anyone remember any birthdays in that house ?” You asked

“Alfred.”

“Who’s Alfred ?”

Jason pressed his lips together, “The butler” He mumbled

“Butler ?” You repeated

“I know. I know.”

“Jason. You have a butler ?”

“Had. Have. Sorta. It’s a whole thing.”

“You were adopted by a rich guy with a butler ?” You didn’t really need the clarification. But you were having trouble wrapping your head around the whole idea.

“Yes. It was not normal.” He said, a little too quick “And Alfred was more family than butler. Honestly.”

You nodded. That didn’t change the shape much, but enough that it didn’t sit so wrong between you. “So. Todd. Is that rich dad’s last name ?”

Jason shook his head. “No. No, by the time I was adopted I was old enough to you know, understand. That was already my name. He didn’t change it. I never really wanted him to either. So it all worked out.”

You gave a slow nod.

Jason went on, explaining little bits and pieces about each of his siblings. About how Dick will always let you talk to him, and never mention the fact that he can’t possibly hold anything else. And how Tim was too smart and it was probably bad for his health. And how Damian stopped by his apartment sometimes on his walk home from school.

It was lovely to hear him talk about them, even when he teased them, even when he complained about little things they did, there was affection woven through every word.

“What about Bruce ?” You asked, before you could think too much about it.

Jason did not fully close himself off, but you could tell the blinds lowered a bit.

“You don’t have to answer” You told him

He just nodded, looking down at his half eaten container of food “We’re uh … not as close as we used to be. Not estranged estranged. Just semi-estranged ? whatever the hell that means”

“I think that means holidays are awkward.”

He gave a short laugh “That’s one way to put it.”

“So what happened ?” The question was gentle, but you regretted it the second it left you.

“We just disagreed about stuff.” He glanced up at you, like he was expecting you to push. When you didn’t, something in him eased and he went on on his own. “He’s not a bad guy. He wasn’t even that bad of a dad. He’s just rough, in his own way. Has all this money. He provides. Roof over your head, food on your table, clothes on your back.”

He paused a moment

“He’s not bad.” He kept insisting that “He just doesn’t really get that that’s not how everyone needs to be loved all the time.”

You figured maybe it wasn’t appropriate to ask a man you’ve only known a few months how he needs to be loved. So instead you asked, “Do you still see him ?”

Jason answered, “Sometimes.”

“And your siblings ?”

“All the time.”

“Sounds like love.” You said

Jason smiled a bit, taking a deep breath before taking another bite of his lunch, then another, keeping himself busy with eating. He didn’t seem too upset, and you weren’t too worried that you had pushed too far. Had Jason not wanted to talk about it, he wouldn’t have talked about it.

The aircon hummed around you, outside a few streets down someone honked their car horn, and a maybe-customer passed by, glanced in through the window, and continued walking.

And Jason sat behind the counter with you, his knee almost touching yours.

The almostness became part of this routine too. His hand would almost brush yours when he passed you food, or a drink, or a napkin. Your shoulder almost touched his arm when you reached for the higher shelves. He almost laughed too loud before catching himself. You almost asked if he would come by tomorrow, but didn’t.

By the end of the month he no longer asked for permission to come in. He would walk right through the front door, nod to the bell above it like he had reached a personal and professional understanding of each other, and walk himself straight behind the counter. Unless there was a customer.

He almost always came by with lunch, the conversation was always easy slipping between customers, he stayed on his stool ( because it was his now ) when you wandered the store to help a customer find a book, or search for one you wanted to show him.

On a slower day, in the middle of an unusually cool week for summer, Jason had walked in and didn’t make his way directly to the counter. He leaned against the doorframe, and you thought maybe you did something wrong. You stared at him for a moment from behind the desk, squinting both from the light behind him and in an attempt to maybe read his mind if you tried hard enough.

“Do you have plans after work ?” He asked

You nearly choked on your own saliva “Plans ?”

“Yeah. Plans.”

“Like … Plans plans ?”

“Are there different levels of plans ?” He asked

“Yes …” You felt stupid

But Jason smiled and you felt significantly less stupid.

“So. Plans ? Of any level. Do you have them ?”

You shook your head, “No. No plans … Why ?”

He shrugged, but it was stiff. “There’s a food truck thing in an empty lot a few blocks over they do a few Fridays at the end of the month.” He answered, “Thought you might like it.”

“With you ?” You asked

“Yeah,” He said “With me.”

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined Jason asking you out. In embarrassing flashes of thoughts when you were bored, or tired, or walking around. You imagined confidence, some teasing probably. Something easy, something a guy like him should be good at.

Instead he looked a little nervous.

“I’d like that.” You said

“Yeah ?” He asked

“Yeah” You nodded.

He smiled. “Cool … Cool.” Then his ears went pink, and his eyes widened a bit “Not like a date. It’s not a date. Roy’s gonna be there too. Some other people. Not a date.”

You almost waited for him to say it wasn’t a date again before you giggled

“Right. Of course. I never would have thought otherwise.”

It was a lie. You absolutely did think otherwise.

“That still cool ?” He asked

You smiled at him. “Yeah. That’s still cool.”

You're atop him, legs straddling his thighs. Jason drums a silent pattern on your hip. You smooth the nose flap and his nose twitches. The flap curls out of place. You sigh.

"Dude."

"Tickles," he says, the word muffled from trying not to move the mask.

"Okay, I'm done. You can talk now."

"I feel rejuvenated already," Jason says, pink lips even pinker in contrast to the ghostly mask.

"You look rejuvenated to me," you say happily.

He grins. Jason always seems to smile more around you.

"So what're we doin' tonight? Besides putting sea minerals on my face."

"Um?" You point to your face, with its own mask. "Not just you. Soon, we'll both be rejuvenated."

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jason says, looking at you like you're the best thing on earth. "After we both get sea-mineralized, are we ordering in?"

"Yeah. I have a coupon for Vinnie's. Can I paint your nails?"

"Sure, baby."

"Yippee!" You leap off the couch and sprint to your and Jason's shared room. You dig through the vanity Jason hand-built and painted for your birthday last year. It's Robin's egg blue, with white accents. He admitted shyly, later, that he'd built it in the hopes that it'd make you want to move in permanently with him.

So a bribe? you'd asked, grinning.

I like to think of it as motivation.

And, well, it worked. You've been living together for almost a year now.

You take out the dark red, almost black polish and return, jumping on the couch. Jason's on the phone, ordering pizza. He gives you his left hand and you tuck yourself against him, opening the polish and starting to paint his nails with the focus of a brain surgeon.

"Uh-huh, yeah, for delivery. Twenty minutes? Alright, thanks." He hangs up. "Ooh, my favorite."

"You better believe it, handsome. Only the best for my favorite boyfriend."

"Favorite?"

You shrug. "Yeah. Don't tell the others."

Jason gently takes the polish and sets it on the coffee table. You're confused—you've only painted two fingers.

"What're you—"

He cuts you off by grabbing your waist with his unpainted hand, pulling you against him and kissing your neck. You squeal in laughter, grasping at his shoulders.

"Jason!"

"I'll show you favorite," he says, pressing ticklish kisses down your throat. He has his painted hand in the air, away from his antics, because he knows you'll pout if the polish gets messed up.

"Uncle, uncle! Please." You pant, delighted, as Jason lets up. You're lying on his lap, and he pulls you in for a real kiss. You pull away from his mouth enough to say, "You know you're the only one for me, Jay."

He hums and kisses you again, rubbing your shoulder. You slacken in his grip, running your fingers through his hair. You twirl one of the silver curls around your finger.

"Much better," Jason says when you break for air.

"I'd never upset my meal ticket," you say, gleeful when he rolls his eyes.

"You're on thin ice, baby."