Author's Note: I can't thank you enough for your kind words. Thank you to the people who keep up with this story and leave such nice reviews, it means the world to me. It's always so much more fun when others participate with your story. You guys motivate me so much! I got this one out quicker than I thought I would! I hope you enjoy!

She doesn't let him leave.

It's not like his brain is working, anyway. As a matter of fact, it's broken. And if he had the ability to speak, he has no doubt that he'd tell her his whole entire life story.

Hell, he'd tell her the secrets of the fucking universe. The secrets she helped him find when she came so hard around him that his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he followed her into the fucking light.

Hi, is what he'd say. My name is Jason Peter Todd. I grew up dirt poor in quite possibly the worst city in the world. My mom was a druggie, my dad skipped a long ass time ago. I had a dog named Sparky. Some sick motherfucker found me on the street trying to steal his tires and decided to take me in. I played hero for a bit. Then some clown beat me senseless with a crowbar before blowing me up. For some reason, I'm back from the fucking dead. Wanna hook up?

And then, after that: Wanna keep on hooking up? We'll just pretend you don't have a clue about what I've been doing. Sound cool with you?

But it wouldn't come out right. It'd come out scrambled, like scrambled eggs, like the best breakfast he used to have every morning when things weren't like this inside his chest.

But this makes up for it. The way her legs and arms are still so tight around him. Keeping him down to earth. Oh, and how she's still shaking. The way she smells so good, so fine, out of this world. Like melted sugar and exploding stars. He inhales her where he has his face tucked, right on the slope between her shoulder and neck.

He can't believe he only ever pulled out before — cumming inside of her is… different.

It felt perfect. So goddamn perfect that he's still lightheaded with some blurry, blurry vision but the way he feels her now, so warm and sweet, makes up for all that he's missing.

He's flying overhead, floating off the ground. But more than that, he's so here with her.

A whole funeral and resurrection. The crash and the burn. The best party of your life. That's what she puts him through.

He doesn't even realize he's kissing her neck until she starts sighing into his ear, her limbs going gradually loose. He can breathe better, but that's not what he wants. He wants to suffocate underneath her again, but he's just as tired as her breath sounds.

And — oof. That's him going soft. Slipping out of her. Because for some reason, this moment needs to end.

Her arms plop down and her legs drop, exhausted. He pulls himself out of her and gets rid of the condom, disappointed he had to wear it in the first place.

Did I wanna get her pregnant or some shit? He frowns. Do aliens actually get pregnant like that?

But it's stupid, useless thoughts that go through his tired head. He's not giving her babies and he's not going to collapse and fall asleep on top of her. It wouldn't be right.

But when he's about to go collapse and fall asleep beside her instead, she goes and ruins his plans like she usually does.

And of course she does it all so gracefully. Even when it's her hand sliding down her stomach and then over her pussy, a noise deep and low coming from her chest. It's her eyes still shut. The way she sounds like a cat searching for something, they way it sounds like she's missing him. That's all it takes for him to stare in awe, for his stomach to go all electric wire knots and his jaw to drop and oh, that's her rubbing herself.

Touching herself. Legs spread wide open, all for him to see. How's she still not done?

But that's not what matters.

He leans over, holding himself up with an arm by her side, watching as her swollen, rosy, heart-shaped lips part with her focus. He traces the shape with his eyes, finds that he can see perfectly fine when it comes to her, whatever that means.

And there goes his hand, beyond his control. Going to their rightful places between her pretty legs, middle finger sliding down her pretty pussy, so wet that he's already starving to sink right back in. Deep.

But it doesn't seem like she's even recovered from before, 'cause when he slides up and brushes over her clit, her body racks with leftover orgasm and the blush that's already dusted over her cheeks grows.

He does it again. And again. And again.

Until she whines and pouts and even then, one more time, until she finds the strength to close her hands around his wrist, holding her bent legs up in the air, but all that does is help his finger slide right in.

Her grip travels up his arm as her little moans coat him. Little deaths, little lives, all in the time it takes for her to move desperately, rolling her hips up in the air because he's too hypnotized to give her what she needs.

"Mmm," she whines, nails sinking into his arm.

He leans in, nose brushing her cheek, only a knuckle deep. She grabs at the nape of his neck with her other hand. "Need more, sweetheart?" he whispers, lips softly dragging over her skin.

She nods once, sharply, squeezing him where he's being held. Her bent leg twitches beside him and he smiles. "Tell me," he says, planting a single kiss on the corner of her jaw.

Instead of words, she fucks herself on his finger, taking him in, and the sight does things to him he doesn't think he has the capacity to comprehend right now, but the feeling is there and it rolls thickly from the inside out.

That's him that makes the winded, broken noise. He must have been too quiet. She must not be listening when even his sigh sounds like it's trembling along with her.

He turns his head and kisses her knee. Places his palm over the top of her thigh and leans back. Slides his hand up until he can unfold her leg, lips dragging down her calf, to her ankle, to her instep and back down to the back of her knee, until his finger is all the way in.

He presses her leg gently down, hooking her ankle over his shoulder, watching her heaving chest and and twisted expression, feeling so good that it hurts. She throbs around him, feels her heartbeat there and there's a rush that goes straight to his head and makes it spin again.

He wants to say the nastiest things she's ever heard, but he doesn't trust his voice, doesn't trust himself. Too lost in her. The way that she changes when they're here, as willing to take as she is to give, more balanced than he could ever be.

He's heard it before, that pussy is power. But he's never truly known.

Her pussy is power. Fuck, she is power. She washes his senses away with acid but amplifies them, too, drains him wholly but lights him with energy.

So when she says it, fills the air with it, her "More." Her "I need it." Her "Give me, Jason," her, "Jason, I need you."

It would take a lot less for him to give in.

He wraps himself with another rubber, finds his way to her like she didn't already milk him for all he's fucking worth and then he's the center of a flame again. But he must be malleable because she's turning him over and sitting on top, riding him all fluid, fluid lighter, liquid like water, making art or whatever the fuck she said — he knows what she said, he knows damn well what she said, but it's not there on his tongue.

She paints him crimson red, colors of a living heart, her hair and the fire she became from. She leans over him, holding his face in both her hands as she grinds down on him. He grabs her hips and keeps her there.

"Jason," she always says his name like it means something, "tell me."

He can't look at her. Doesn't really want to anymore. He practices silence for once, focuses on the heat of her surrounding him. The pads of her fingers massage his scalp, her thumbs stroke his cheeks. "What happened to you?" she whispers to his lips. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Can't you tell? he wants to bite, but his mind's still scrambled eggs again and all he does is grit his teeth, hold her tighter because it's not the time to be delicate.

But of course she can't tell. Of course not. He's given her crumbs and a single memory. He's only confused her because when he started wanting her to know, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. He didn't want to want her to know.

Because if she did, she'd go running for the hills and never look back. She'd pity him, who wouldn't? And then she would hate him. She would destroy him and leave him and he wouldn't have it in himself to even try and bring her back.

He wouldn't blame her for leaving. It would be better for both of them. He could live without her. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he has Eliza and shit to do and he'd be fine. And she would be better off with pretending he never existed. But that's not the worst possibility.

Being alone won't ever be the worst of it. It makes sense to be alone. He doesn't deserve to have her like this, the most gorgeous thing he's ever held and felt. So he'd give it up. He'd give it up.

But what if she looks him in the eyes? What if she looks at him, straight to his fucking soul, while he bares it all. Confesses all that he's done, and all that he didn't do. And after it all, what if she looks him in the eyes?

What if she stays?

"It is okay…" she coos, smoothing her fingers over his face, over and over. He can't look at her. He won't. "You can tell me. Speak to me, Jason. Tell me what happened to you."

He tries to drown it out, but he doesn't have the strength to hold words underwater. So he grabs her rough, arms wound bruising and tight around her waist, and fucks up into her. It catches her off guard and she keens, the words lost on her, and he doesn't stop. Anything he can do to get her to shut up.

But still, she's saying his name. Pulling at his hair and meeting him right in the middle, slamming down so hard that she falls forward and slides until her neck and chest are in his face.

"Please," she cries. "Please, please, please!" and he knows exactly what she's asking for.

He bites her shoulder, hard. But she's still begging. Shut up, already, just shut up.

Doesn't she know? Doesn't she fucking know already?

He knows she's close with the way her words scramble and slur. Her heartbeat surrounding him, picking up so high and he buries his face in her neck.

"Ja— Jay— son!"

Faster, harder. Biting her neck and destroying himself in her, just a bit more, more, more more mo—

"Ungh, Kori," he cries out, a rough rip from his throat that he doesn't expect. And then he's flooding with light, eyes rolling to the back of his head as she cums, too.

"Jason," she sighs before falling down, curling on top of him.

Doesn't she know?

Her chest feels so smooth and warm on his. Her breath soothing on his skin.

Doesn't she know?

He'll never say it. It's not fair. It's no good for him.

Don't you know, sweetheart? is what he shouldn't say. That you're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me across two lives?

She does not let him leave.

If she can prolong this any longer, she would. She feels safe with him remaining inside, but did he?

She cradles his head in her hands, his face the most relaxed she has seen all night. He must be so exhausted, and yet she asked for more from him. And then asked him questions he is clearly not ready to answer — how can she be so inconsiderate?

Her heart aches looking at him. His brows still and unfurrowed, his lips parted slightly and the dried blood on top of it. She wipes at it, but only a speck goes away.

He appears ready to sleep. She also feels it in the way his hands slip down her legs, grip loose as his limbs relax. He is growing soft inside her, so she tries to savor the feeling. X'hal knows when she will feel it again.

She brushes his hair back and scratches his scalp, listening to each breath of his. He still will not look her in the eye. But she did not know what she expected, really.

She kisses his cheek, right beside his nose. "I apologize," she whispers, hiding their faces together behind her hair. "I did not intend to upset you. Forgive me."

He twitches underneath her, the only indicator that he heard. She cages his head in her arms. "Some things must be said. I am always willing to listen to you."

"Don't worry," he mutters and swallows. "Don't."

She does her best to push her hair behind her before pressing her forehead to his. "Are you asking me to pretend?"

"Yes," he says low. "Until you believe it."

She blinks, confused. "Why should I do so?"

"It's better," he whispers, eyes still closed. "Believe me."

"How can I?"

"You just do."

"You are asking me for something I cannot do."

"You can," he says, his words sounding heavy.

She shakes her head. "Who are you to tell me, Jason?"

Finally, he blinks his eyes open. But the peaceful expression that adorned him has already left. He looks at her through half-lidded, bleary eyes with a slight frown.

"Trust me. If there's one thing, it's this."

She tries to keep him from turning his face, but quickly realizes how it will only make it more difficult. She takes in his profile, as crooked and handsome as it always is.

"Listen to me, Kori. Please."

This is what he says please for? She sniffs almost angrily. "Only if you look at me."

"I can't." His nostrils flare. "You fucking know I can't."

Of course she knows — why did she ask? There she goes again, her own selfishness drawing such ugly emotions to the surface. She mutters an apology and waits for him to continue, not daring to move.

"Nothing good is going to come out of this. You're only gonna get hurt."

"Jason," she laughs, "I already am."

"I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

"Because of you?"

"Yes. Because of me."

"What if I do not care for that?"

"Then you're ridiculous. You're in over your head."

"And yet," she says, the bitterness creeping back in. She is swinging back and forth, ready to cry, ready to scream, to subdue her own self, to fight.

He inhales sharply. "I know."

"What do you truly want, then?"

He pauses, and the whole world falls into silence until he breaks it. He seems to break many things. "I want you to forget about me."

"Tell me how."

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. "Figure it out yourself."

"How can you tell me all of this after we—"

"All the more reason to go."

Her eyes widen. "Jason…" she says, and another emotions settles inside of her, one so familiar when it comes to him. She tucks her face into his neck, holding him tight to her. He goes to hold her waist and weakly attempts to push her off, but he fails.

"Kori," he says, a warning.

She brushes his lips over his ear. "Jason…"

He squeezes her, something frustrated rumbling in his chest and throat. "Don't do this. Please."

"Why not?" she says, voice like honey, nipping at his ear. "This is what you do to me."

He exhales, a mix of everything. "Don't act stupid, Kor," he says, his voice only hushed air.

"Only you make me feel this way, Jason," he says hotly into his ear, kissing underneath and beside it. "Only you do this to me. Only you make me feel this glorious," she nips at his cheek. "And you want to take it away from me? Away from yourself?"

He groans. "Yes."

"Please, sweetheart," she says, each syllable rich as it slips off her tongue, "I ask for you to reconsider."

He growls half-heartedly, baring his teeth. "You make my life difficult."

She would smile if it did not hurt. "I know."

Gently, she sits back up, scraping her nails down his chest and stomach along the way. He grimaces, shifting underneath her. She takes his time lifting her hips, grabbing the base of him, and slowly pulling him out, trying her absolute best not to whimper at the loss.

She wants to call him many names. How is it that he brings that side out of her? But she refrains.

Instead, she makes a show of getting off of him and the bed. Bending over as she collects her clothes and takes her time putting them on, one by one.

She puts on her skirt before her underwear, shimmying her hips right in front of his face as she does so. But when she goes to put her underwear on, she pauses. On an impulse, she throws them at his face, and finds what she already knows to be true: he was looking, watching her every move.

How can she feel so powerful and powerless at the same time?

"For your pleasure," she says sarcastically as she goes to pull on her boots, fighting the tears that were springing to her eyes.

No, I will not cry. No more tears. He is a fool. Give him a little more time, and then no more.

All she knows for sure is that she is sick of this. And this new feeling he has given her, the feeling of being so physically sated yet so drained and depleted in her heart; she already despises it.

She shakes her head, disappointed. An anger so deep she can only express it as such.

"You are a fool if you think I can forget you, Jason," she says before she takes off, flying into the light of the rising morning.

No, she would rather not think. She better not. All she focuses on is going home, on healing the marks he left on her. On washing it all away.

She arrives on the roof, sitting on the edge just in time for the sun to fully rise in the sky. She removes her breast plate, lifts her skirt, rolls down her boots just in case there is anywhere he left himself on that she did not notice. She closes her eyes and welcomes the healing energy of the sun to coat her, the throbbing aches and bruises his mouth and hands left dissipating.

She does not know how long she stays there, but she is alone for all the time she is. It must still be very early.

She flies down to the window of her bedroom and goes through, taking what she needs for a shower before heading to the bathroom. She turns the heat up and scrubs every inch of her body clean, trying to erase it all, careful to get rid of any trace, any scent of him that will leave her longing.

If she has learned anything, it is not to kid herself. To not put herself in the position to miss someone more than she should.

She has not lost him, not fully. But she would rather he not linger. Not when his heart locks itself inside chests and cages.

Who is the bigger fool between us?

Perhaps she should not have gone to him in the first place. But she does not necessarily regret going, either. All she regrets is his words. How she still feels so badly for him that she cannot give herself the liberty to react.

He protects himself so vehemently, at the cost of her feelings. Why can't she do the same? How come she cannot be cruel?

You are not built that way, she tells herself. Not for the first time, she wishes she were different.

She rids her hair of the smell of love. When she finishes, she dries herself off well and dresses up, catching her own gaze in the mirror and the dark purple crescents under her eyes.

"Another sleepless night," she mumbles to herself. It seems that about every few nights, she gets the rest she needs before she is off and watching the sun rise again. She shakes her head and sighs. She has been neglecting her body these past few months.

It would be better to get a couple hours of sleep now, but she sees no point in it. She is not tired enough to go to bed anyways, still so wound up from the hours before.

"Morning," Cyborg says, and it causes her to jolt. His voice felt loud. She grabs her chest, heart beat too fast. "Woah, my bad, didn't mean to scare you. You alright?"

She takes a few seconds to settle down before blinking the blurriness out of her vision and looking his way. "Apologies. I did not sleep well. But I am most definitely awake now."

He chuckles. "You want waffles for breakfast?"

It would be better if she ate. If she replaced the kind of fulfillment that lingers inside her body. "If you could be so kind," she says, smiling sweetly as she joins him in the kitchen and prepares a tea for herself.

They enjoy the early morning silence together. She flips through a magazine left on the dining table as he prepares the food, the room lit with the warm glow of the morning. It seems that he is the only man she can do this with. She snorts at the thought and raises her brow mischievously when he looks her way. He smiles and shakes his head before turning back around.

She thanks him for the beautiful waffles he puts in front of her, topped with fresh strawberries. "Thank you very much," she says, clasping her hands over her heart, trying not to let her sensitivity overwhelm her and make her cry.

"No problem, little lady. You look real hungry."

"Are you not going to eat?"

"Nah, not now. I'll make for myself later. Enjoy, Star."

She smiles gratefully and thanks him again before dousing her waffles in syrup and taking a bite of the most divine food she has had in ages.

Why not just replace all her desires for physical intimacy with the warmth of fresh food? Her life would become much easier.

Especially since food doesn't leave you feeling sore afterwards, making you recall just what was done to you. And how it is gone.

She turns on the faucet and begins to wash her dirty dishes after preparing water for another cup of tea, thanking Cyborg once again, just so he knows just how much she truly appreciates his kind gesture.

"So, don't tell anyone else yet, but…"

She turns to see his mischievous smirk and raises her brows in return. "Oh?"

"I was talking to Ka— Bumblebee last night." She catches the slip-up but does not say anything. She leans in eagerly, enjoying the playful nature this conversation has taken. "And we're thinking of having a Halloween party…"

"Oooo," she says, eyes shining brightly. For some reason, she feels optimistic about this. Or maybe it is because last year's was quite possibly the most fun she has had at a party.

"Yeah. But we wanna make sure it's, like, actually organized. And we're thinking of having it over at Titans East."

"I am very pleased about this prospect."

"Yeah, I figured you would… it's not really a secret, but I don't think anyone's expecting a big thing, y'know? I think it'd be cool if everyone actually dressed up."

She giggles, recalling the lame attempts at costumes of the majority from last year. "I agree. May I assist you in any way?"

"Probably. I'll let you know. Just start thinking about your costume."

She nods and finishes the dishes, drying her hands off before pouring her tea. She allows it to seep while bouncing the teabag in the water, daydreaming about what she could possibly wear, and coming up with… nothing interesting. She pours honey into her mug and stirs absentmindedly, counting the circles she makes with her spoon.

"Good morning," she hears, a gravelly voice that stills her.

She turns to him, wondering why it feels like she has not seen him for awhile — they spoke lightly yesterday, and just the night before, she had helped him go to sleep.

They lock eyes, and that is all it takes for her to feel exposed.

Will he find out what she did somehow? Why did she forget to check for marks? She felt them heal, but did they heal fully? There is no doubt he can see how tired she looks as well. He must be putting the pieces together, he must be, and the anxiety twists her stomach.

"Morning, Star," he says pleasantly, his smile contradicting all her thoughts and instantly soothing her. "Didn't expect to see you up so early."

She sighs and smiles. "I did not sleep too well. What about you?"

He stretches his arms and yawns, his white shirt rising slightly with the movement. "Me neither. What do you have there?"

"Tea. Would you like some?"

"No thanks," he says, grinning now.

She blushes, feeling as though he knows something she does not want him to. But why would he smile about it? "What is it?" she says, patting her cheeks, checking if there is anything on her face.

"Nothing," he chuckles. "Just glad to see you first thing in the morning."

He says it quietly, barely loud enough for her to hear. But it takes a moment to process.

And once she does, her heart soars and plummets, all at once.

He rubs the back of his neck, smiling shyly. "That was— yeah." He laughs nervously, fumbling over his words, looking so innocent that it hurts to see.

She blinks, smiling slightly out of… many things. "Oh, Richard," she whispers, taking her mug and blushing all the way back to the dining table, where she spends the remainder of the morning trying to recover from that single comment.