"Y'know, sweetheart," he lays a kiss upon the middle of her spine, "you might just make me lose my mind one day."
He whispers this, and watches as it runs up, under her skin. She's trembling.
He resists just sinking his teeth into her.
"I hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me," she breathes, and he hears the smile.
Another kiss, higher. One more. Higher. Higher, higher, higher… that's where she always seems to take him.
When did he let himself go?
"I gotta warn ya, gorgeous…"
He lets his words curl around her, lets his lips linger between her shoulder blades. He lays his tongue flat there and licks up, up, up.
He's laying right on top of her now. His chest is hot against her.
It's not enough. He's out for her. Dying for her.
Maybe he'd die because of her.
His mouth next to her ear. "I can hold a grudge."
Then the taste of her neck is in it, between his teeth and down his throat. He'd swallow her if he could.
He slips a hand underneath her, on her stomach, holding her tight. He doesn't know how bad he's throbbing until she rubs her ass against him. He doesn't know he's grinding down on her until she's moaning.
He bites down on the soft slope of her shoulder, until the skin breaks. Even her blood's sweet.
"Baby, you taste like candy."
He grabs her hips and kneads them in his hands, savoring the softness. His tongue soothes the mark he so selfishly left on her.
Before a sorry slips out of him, he tosses her onto her back. Her bra, unclasped from before, still covers her.
He shoves her skirt up and pulls her roughly to him by her bare thighs, his cock against the heat of her. Still covered there too, but he could feel it dripping.
He's on his knees, her legs open and around him on his bed. His pants are fucking killing him right now.
"May I?"
He practically rips her bra off before she could even respond.
With the way she's arching her back and showing him those perfect tits, he doesn't think she minds.
They haven't fucked. Yet.
It's been a month since they first kissed. A month with all this building up and all this heat that it started to burn him from the inside out.
Just the thought of her gets him hard.
He's in purgatory.
Who cares where he goes next? As long as he has her.
He licks up her left breast from the bottom to the top, biting the softness there. If only her bruises wouldn't heal.
All mine.
He wants more than a mark.
Mine.
He wants a scar.
He blows on her and she squirms and she winces and she rubs against his sweet spot. He slips a hand at the base of her skull, cups her pussy with the other, and licks into her mouth.
He sucks her lips and then her tongue and then he's crushing his face against hers and pulling her up onto his lap, gripping her ass. Her arms wrap around his neck, the way she always does.
She starts grinding into him, harder and harder, so fast that he almost can't take it. He takes a nipple into his mouth and rolls the other one with the tips of his fingers.
The noises she's making… melt into his brain and into the ground and up into the air until it sounds like nothing anymore. Except it's everything and more.
She's got him in a haze, feeling so good that he isn't sure she's real.
He always loved girls. Always loved the way they sound when he gets it right, the way they made him feel.
He loves making her feel all that and more.
He takes her other nipple into his mouth, biting gently. She tugs at his hair. He does it harder.
Heat was rolling off of her, and he could feel the ache in it, how she wanted to let go. Harder and faster and faster and harder and I'll make you cum so many times, you'll only remember my name.
"C'mon, baby," he says into her chest.
She gasps sharply. He kisses her over her heart.
"C'mon, sweetheart."
Then she's gone. He doesn't let her go.
She falls into him. They can't get enough air. But her breath is still sweet against his neck.
Maybe it's heaven. Maybe it's hell. It's a special kind of torture, the way she's so easy to adore. All of her, all made up of sugar and love and he made her bleed.
He'd drink her 'til he dies again. He would, because he's sick, and he's fucked.
"Jason," she sighs. No, purrs.
So, so fucked.
In this world, the silence hums like white noise you think you hear.
You're not alone, except you are. It's a given. And it used to be what he wanted. About a week ago.
He's not staying here long, anyway.
But oh, does he miss the noise.
Even patrol is boring, but that's not what he's here for. Once he gets what he needs, he'll be headed back home. Try to fix what he left over there.
He'll hide away in his old room in the meantime.
Warm hands cover his eyes.
"Guess who."
"My murderer."
"Close enough."
She lays her palms on his jaw and tilts his head back against her chest. She leans down and gives him a big, wet kiss on the cheek.
He smiles. A little.
"I missed you, Grayson. It's been like…" she trails off, the awkwardness creeping in.
"A year. I know."
A year since that thing they don't talk about.
"Well?" she says, raising a brow, a hand on her hip.
"Missed you too, Babs."
"Now," she sits on his bed and leans over the desk he's sitting at, "why so blue?"
He sighs. "I'm not."
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
He shrugs and pretends to read the files in front of him. The ones that Cyborg gave him before he left.
He can feel her staring.
He knows her waiting game.
Don't say anything. Don't even look at her.
And he loses it every damn time.
"Did he tell you to check up on me?" He can't help the bitterness in his tone.
She rolls her eyes, but he knows she's satisfied he gave in so quickly. "No, I came here of my own volition, Dick. I wanted to see one of my dearest, and closest friends, in the whole wide world."
He crosses his arms and doesn't bother to look in her direction. "I've been here for a week. Why now?"
"Why didn't you call? Text? Email?" she bites back. Hurt.
That shuts him up.
She gives him her classic, "you're a dumb asshole" look that she's perfected over the years.
And boy, does he feel like one.
"I'm sorry. I was busy."
She snorts. "I figured. I also figured you didn't want to see me."
At this, he turns to her, confused.
"You know, after the funeral… then you went back to Jump… it seemed like you didn't want to talk to any of us back home. And I don't blame you. Just don't think I don't want to see you."
"Of course I want to see you, Babs. I-I… I don't know."
"Me neither," she laughs sarcastically.
"I don't know anything lately."
"Yup. Me. Neither."
"Didn't you just graduate from the Academy?" he says, smirking.
"Only at the top of the class."
He chuckles. She always brings it out of him.
"I think you were always a lot smarter than me," he says before he could think.
"Hmm, maybe emotionally. That kind of intelligence just comes with being a woman…"
He raises a brow at her and she winks back.
"But… overall? I always thought we were pretty much on the same level. Just because I decided to get a formal education doesn't necessarily mean I'm smarter than you."
"That emotional intelligence, he blurts out, afraid to look at her. "I wish I had that."
He didn't mean for his voice to waver, or for the shame to contort his face.
"Oh, Grayson, honey." Her voice can get so soft. "C'mere."
Awkwardly, he obliges, and sits next to her on his bed. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds him close.
He can't help but tense up. The last time someone touched him…
The thought immediately sends him into a spiral. Just as he's about to push her away, she strokes him from the nape of his neck to the middle of his back.
She does it again. And again. And again. Softly, slowly. He focuses on it, lets his body loosen up as the minutes pass by.
She could always see right through him.
"Let me be your friend. I'm here for you."
He relaxes into her and rests his cheek on her head. She runs her nails up the back of his hair, the way he always liked it.
"I'm really sorry I didn't call," he mumbles.
"Yeah. You should be."
"I've been such a shitty friend. To everybody."
She pulls away and cradles his face in her hands.
"Don't say that…"
"It's true." He gently takes her wrists and places her hands in her lap. "I haven't told any of them the truth. Not about who I am, not about what I'm doing here in Gotham… I didn't even tell them about last year. Not even her.
"You're not obligated to tell anyone anything."
He laughs bitterly. "I sure do feel like I am."
"Do you want to?"
Yes. No. Yes.
Fuck no.
"I don't know, Babs. I don't think I even know how to say it."
"There's no wrong way."
"But there is!" He stands abruptly and starts to pace back and forth. "No matter what I do… it's wrong. I always hurt someone. I think it's for the best, but then it just goes to shit."
He rips his hands through his hair and pulls it, hard. The anger comes back to him all at once, but as soon as his eyes reach hers, it unveils itself.
And then it's flooding out of him. Not in words, but in tears.
Soundlessly, he turns away from her and rests his forehead on the wall. Prays for her to go away.
But like the things that keep him up at night, (or maybe more like the kind friend she is) she never does.
Maybe he just needs someone to witness how weak he's been. Tell him that he doesn't deserve the luxury of crying, and longing. But she doesn't, and he knows she'd never, and he's not sure what's worse.
The arms that wrap around his back are gentle and warm.
"It's okay," she speaks softly, pressing her cheek against him. "'s okay…"
He grabs her arm to get her off, but she's quick to turn and duck under him. He hides his face in the crook of his elbow.
"Dick… you've been through a lot. You're allowed to be sad about it."
Once the tips of her fingers graze his chin, he tears himself away from her. Standing upright, he stares at her and pulls at the rage simmering behind his ribs.
Don't give in. Quit being so fucking pathetic.
But he doesn't have his mask on.
She's seen this look on his face before, he knows. The fake disdain and the empty threats. His last attempt at protection before he breaks character.
It's always been the understanding in her eyes that did him in. And with it, the small hope that he'd be forgiven for all he's done.
"You're allowed to grieve. Even for things that only you lost."
His chin wobbles. She wipes the next tear that falls.
"I think it's time to start."
The city has been quiet.
Comfortingly so — everyone seems to be enjoying the newfound peace. The alarm has not gone off for over a month. Not since the man they found.
And now that he's gone, the silence feels like freedom.
She tells him all of this. All of her thoughts as they come, all of her emotions as they go. They fill the little air that they leave between them when they aren't kissing.
And oh, does she love kissing him.
Every night, she comes to him. Sometimes he greets her at his door. Sometimes he takes her elsewhere. Always does he take her breath away.
There is nothing to question. His simplicity is magnetic. She can never help but long for it.
And now, with her head on his chest, she knows she will only miss it more in the coming days.
Her breasts are pressed against his ribs, more exposed than she has ever been in front of him. His fingers run back and forth above the belt of her skirt. It feels like the mornings she has only ever dreamed of.
Only he has taken her this high. Only he holds her as they settle down. His heartbeat slows under her palm.
"Hey," he says so beautifully.
"Hello," she hums.
He turns onto his side, smoothing his hand down the side of her head and then wraps it around the back of her neck.
"How'd you like it, princess?"
She takes hold of his arm and pulls it against her chest. With a bite of her lip, she giggles.
He smiles back. "Looks like we're on the same page."
He rubs circles into her skin, and she immediately leans back into it. The way he touches her so tenderly sparks slowly down her spine and up again.
It begins again, the heat in her stomach. It manifests, and she indulges, eyes closed and her body open to him.
This is what she has been needing. The closeness, the liberation. To have a witness to all of the love that pours from her.
He presses his lips against the corner of hers, and then the other. They press against the top, against the bottom. Then finally the middle, slow and deep, like dipping into fresh honey.
Everywhere she goes, she wants to look into the distance and always find him there. No dream could ever be as rich, as sweet, as full as this. Not even close.
"Kori," he breathes, running his hand over her breast and into the dip of her waist.
"Hmm?" she sighs with half-lidded eyes.
"Sweetheart…"
"Yes?"
"Was that your first…" he begins, tucking her hand behind her ear, "orgasm?"
She shakes her head. "Of course not," she says, rubbing her index finger along his lips.
He raises his eyebrows high, comically so. "Oh."
"Were you expecting…" she kisses him, "a different response?"
"Yeah, I was, honestly."
She throws her head back and laughs.
"I have only ever done it by myself. You are my… first, Jason. I did not have anyone else before…"
He wraps his arms around her and hugs her to him. "Before what?"
Her own wrap around his neck. "You."
"Oh really?"
"Oh, yes. Absolutely."
"Well, I'm happy to give you a good time, doll."
"You have given me several 'good times.' How can I thank you?"
"Hmm… let me give you another."
Before she can think, his teeth nip at the corner of her jaw, then down her neck, rougher and rougher until she is whimpering again.
He soothes each bite with a kiss, each one shallowing her breath even further.
It feels good… so good, too good.
"Jason…"
He moans against her skin, and it almost hurts her insides.
"Jason." She threads her fingers through his hair.
"I'll make you feel real good again, sweetheart," he husks into her ear. She takes his jaw into her hand and gently pushes him away from her.
The confused look on his face sends a pang through her heart. She tries to soothe it away with her thumb running across his cheek, and a smile.
"I apologize. I am afraid that I feel quite…"
"Overwhelmed?"
"Yes," she sighs. "Quite overwhelmed at the moment."
"I understand. I understand," he turns and kisses her palm, "I should've asked first. I'm sorry."
"It is the okay," she giggles. "It is okay. I merely… need some time."
"Yeah," he chuckles. "Definitely. You sound like you're dreaming, sweetheart."
"Mmmm…"
"I'll give you good dreams, princess. I have 'em for you. But only for you."
With a quick glance outside of the window, she sees the rising sun.
"Sometimes, Jason…"
"Yeah?"
"I think that you are the dream."
Almost too good to be true.
For a week, they hang out. Catch up.
Act a little bit like when they were kids again.
"Shutup, smartass."
"You, dumbass. Dick."
It's such a relief to laugh. It feels like it's been years since the last time he has.
"C'mon, hit me like you mean it."
"Why? So you can cry again?"
"That was one time, because I was on my period, asshole."
He rolls his eyes. "Sure."
"Alright, Boy Wonder."
She only kicks his ass in sparring half the time.
They talk for hours on end. They talk about everything except the thing they don't talk about.
The one thing that sits heavy on their chests and weighs down each step.
"Do you remember that time when we were —"
"Yeah."
Silence.
He doesn't like silence anymore. He doesn't like how empty his room is. Or how empty the manor is.
Even the streets are oddly empty on patrol.
No news back home, either.
"Everything's good here, Rob — everyone's good."
"Great. I'll be back within the week."
"You sure? I think you need this, man. You even sound a lot better."
"Of course I'm sure. I can't stay here forever. If I'm being honest, I didn't miss it much."
"Yeah, well… maybe a little distance is good. Take another week. We'll be okay. If we need you, you'll know."
"I'll consider it."
He stays longer. Another week, as suggested. He needs to finish his project up anyway.
Barbara leaves before he does.
"Knowledge is power, Grayson. I want to learn how to fight within the system, too."
"I'm proud of you. Thank you for everything."
"You're welcome. Call me. I want you to tell me everything. Every. Little. Detail."
"I'll consider it."
Before he knows it, it's been a month since he left home. The end of August is humid and sticky. He's not ready to leave.
He hasn't heard from her. She barely even said goodbye.
He didn't want her to. He didn't want to see just how good it was for her that he was leaving. She used to beg him to stay.
According to Babs, "Your actions aren't unforgivable. While they are completely immature, among many other things, they weren't spiteful. But remember that she isn't obligated to forgive you. What's important is that you learn to forgive yourself."
Now whenever he opens his closet, instead of ignoring all the skeletons in the dark back corner, he looks them in the eye sockets for a second or two, and that's all he can do.
The guilt still eats him alive, but a little less much.
For another month, he keeps dying. He keeps remembering. And then he dies again. Over and over and over.
He needs to be someone else. Someone better than all this.
On a warm September night, he comes back home.
