“So…” Jason’s voice was a low, lazy drawl, the kind that suggested he didn’t have a care in the world. The way his finger traced the curve of her arm said otherwise. Her skin was still warm where it brushed against his, bare and soft, her head resting against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrummed beneath her cheek. “Is there anything that’s a hard ‘no’ for you?”
Her head tilted slightly, just enough for her to catch his eyes, still hazy from sleep. “A no?”
“Yeah.” He quirked a corner of his mouth, almost smirking but not quite. “You know, something you’d never want to try.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, but when she spoke, her words came hesitant, wary. “You mean... in bed?”
Jason felt heat rise to his face, a betrayal of the calm, confident persona he usually wore like armor. This wasn’t supposed to feel vulnerable. His tone was casual, deliberately so. But under her gaze -those impossibly clear blue eyes- his mask slipped. Confidence had never been his problem. Except now.
“Sure,” he said, nodding once, tamping down the dryness clawing at his throat. “We’re adults. We can talk about this stuff.”
She hesitated, pulling the sheet tighter around her body, like armor. “We’re having that talk now?”
Her response was quick, almost defensive. “It’s not that,” she said, sitting up and putting a small, deliberate distance between them. “It’s just… we just woke up.”
Jason leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. It was an act, pure and simple. The picture of ease, when every part of him wanted to rewind time to before he’d opened his mouth. “Hey, if we could wait this long, what’s another conversation?”
She caught the flicker of something in his voice. It wasn’t insecurity -not quite- but close enough that her lips tugged into a wry smile. “You are disappointed.”
“Not even a little.” His voice softened, the lie so easy to tell it almost sounded true. He sat up just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering a second longer than he needed to.
And for a moment, that was enough.
The quiet between them settled, the memories of last night lingering -fragile, yet alive- threatening to rekindle with the barest breath. The room still carried their scents -faint traces of flowers from her hair and something sweeter, something indefinable that was hers alone, mingling with the gun oil that clung to him.
His hand was resting on her arm, remembering the curve of her hips, her waist, her breast... the way her skin had felt beneath his fingers -soft, electric, and impossibly real.
It wasn’t just the way her body fit against his, though that had been searing and immediate, like fire meeting gasoline. It was the moments in between -the way she’d laughed, almost disbelieving, when he’d kissed the hollow of her collarbone; the way she’d hesitated, her fingers brushing his chest like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch him. And the way she’d looked at him afterward, her eyes heavy-lidded but searching, as if she were trying to memorize him in the low light.
Now, the stillness between them wasn’t uncomfortable, not even close -it was mutual. Like they both knew they’d stepped over a line they couldn’t un-cross, and neither of them was in any rush to look back. The air was heavier for it, thicker, but not unkind.
And maybe that was the problem.
He shouldn’t have done this -not because he regretted it, but because she probably did. Because she deserved better than the outcast with a rap sheet and more baggage than she could carry.
“I just… I want to know you, Steph. All of you.”
Her breath hitched, so faint he might have missed it if he wasn’t listening for it. She turned her face away from him, the movement small but significant. “I’m not great at sharing,” she admitted, the words almost inaudible. “I-It was a problem before, with Tim. I got jealous. I… assumed the worst. It wasn’t fair.”
There it was. The name that always showed up uninvited.
The name landed like a dull punch to the gut -annoying, but insubstantial. Not because he cared what his replacement thought, but because the kid had left a mark.
He’d been her Robin. The one who got it right. The one she probably thought about when she wondered if Jason was a bad idea.
He swallowed the sharp words itching to slip out. It wasn’t her fault. Not really. He could see it now, in the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, the way her voice cracked on that stupid name. She wasn’t bringing him to throw it in his face; she was handing it over like a scar, something jagged and still healing.
“So no threesomes then?” he said, his voice light, teasing. The corner of his mouth lifted in challenge, daring her to meet him on his terms. “Got it.”
Her glare was immediate, fierce. “That’s not funny!”
“Who said I was joking?” He arched a brow, holding her gaze. Then, softer, before she could fire back: “You’re the one bringing up your ex first thing in the morning.”
The words hung between them, deliberate but not cruel. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to take them in.
“That’s not—” She stopped, flustered. He watched as the tension in her shoulders eased, just slightly. Her eyes softened, and for the first time that morning, she really looked at him. “I was explaining. And don’t dodge the question. Have you?”
His brows lifted. “Have I what?”
“You know what I mean.” She gestured vaguely, her cheeks flushing a fierce pink. “A threesome. Did you- have you done that before?”
Jason watched her, his gaze steady but unflinching. She was a tangle of nerves and defiance, her lips pressed into that stubborn pout he’d come to recognize as both a dare and a charm. Vulnerability flickered in her eyes, tangled up in her irritation, and he saw it for what it was: fear. Not of him, but of what he might say.
“You’re really stuck on this, huh?” His tone was light, teasing, but his gaze lingered, catching on all the details -her messy hair, the twist of her fingers in the sheet, the way her vulnerability mirrored his own.
“Don’t act like this is my fault,” she shot back. “You brought it up.”
He chuckled low and quiet. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”
“Jason,” she warned. “Answer me.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Steph, does it matter?”
Jason wasn’t sure why her insistence needled him.
Maybe it was the sharpness in her voice or the way her eyes flashed with something more complicated than annoyance -something closer to doubt.
Her words had struck a nerve he didn’t even know was raw, pulling at threads he thought he’d long since knotted away.
Did it matter? That was the kind of thing he used to ask himself late at night when the world went quiet and his thoughts got too loud. Did anything he’d done before her really matter? The mistakes, the fleeting connections, the endless attempts to fill the gaping void in his chest -did any of it carry weight now that she was here, looking at him like he was worth the risk?
But then, wasn’t that the problem? He could see it in her -beneath the fire, she was bracing for him to confirm her worst fear: that she was just one more person in a long line of mistakes. And it terrified him that she might be right -not because she was, but because she believed she could be.
She faltered, her hands clenching the sheet tighter. “No,” she finally said. “But it… it kind of hurts, you know? Thinking about all the people you’ve-” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t care.”
Jason pulled her closer, resting her head against his chest. “Hey. It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice softened. “And for the record, no -I haven’t. Not that I’d be opposed to it, if that’s what my girl wanted. But not with someone I love, Steph. That’s a line I don’t cross.”
She stilled against him. “You mean that?”
Jason felt her breath catch against his chest, her words barely more than a whisper, but he heard the tremor in them -the hesitation, the need.
He let out a slow exhale, the burden in his own chest easing like a knot untangling.
“Every word,” Jason nodded, his arms tightening around her like he could hold her doubts at bay. “And for what it’s worth, you’re not the only one who’s possessive. Sharing you? With anyone? Not a chance.” He paused, his voice dipping. “Especially not with Drake.”
She let out a startled laugh, the tension easing. “Okay, that’s fair. But…” she hesitated. “If we--if this was--would you have suggested it?” He smirked, his lips brushing the top of her head. “And risk you finding someone better? No way, Blondie. I like my odds too much.”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/61096540
