The dick pic storyline is driving me absolutely feral, I need more, my love. Please, I am on my knees begging you 🙇♀️ 🙏
im chewing my laptop and maybe committing a few crimes because of the feelings. they're going to fuck eventually i swear!!
**
Sunlight yawns bright and weightless over the horizon, dawn dappled in lazy diluted watercolour brushstrokes.
Bronze scatters across the sky, endless wavelengths of vibrant colour sliding seamlessly into the other; gold hooks into blue and smudges talented fingers into the soft line of pink.
It’s been a long time since you’ve seen the blinding curve of the sun in the morning. You’ve missed the quiet plethora of colour. The silence. The absence of responsibility.
Watching the dawn break over the horizon is easy, it’s beautiful; makes you want to swallow the world whole.
You think of Jason and how sometimes, when you really make him smile, you get the same endless feeling in your chest.
“I don’t remember you being here when I went to bed.” Jason rumbles as soon as he spots you standing by the window, voice thick and lazy with sleep. He rubs a hand through his hair, confusion thumbing gently against the tired lines of his face. “More importantly, I can’t remember the last time you were up this early. Everything okay? Do you need me to beat someone up for you?”
Your smile is automatic, reflective.
“I don’t need you to beat anyone up for me. I can do it myself.” Jason wanders forwards, steps eerily silent, and grabs you from behind, tucks you soft and warm against his chest. His fingers interlock against your stomach, trapping you in place, and you tip your head back to look at him.
Jason meets your gaze and doesn’t let go. It’s almost unnerving having his undivided attention. You find that you’re suddenly unsure.
It feels like the ground is shifting under your feet, feels like a fracture, a planetary faultline; like if you take one wrong step the floor will simply open right up, leave you falling into a hole with no bottom.
The look on his face is sleepy and thoughtful, you see him swallow.
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.” Jason says after a careful silence. Pressing his mouth to the crown of your head he mumbles into your hair, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”
Your heart swells in your chest and you think of how goddamn lucky you are to have him as your best friend.
“Oh good.” You sigh, relieved. “Because the real reason I’m here is because there’s this spider in my apartment and I think it wants to kill me.”
Jason laughs softly against the top of your head and then ducks down to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, “I’ll get my gun.”
“Breakfast first?” You choke, shivering at the feel of his lips so close to your pulse point.
“You just want free food from me don’t you?” Jason grins, teeth scraping the thin, sensitive skin under your ear. Your stomach flips, excitement snaking thick down your spine. Part of you thinks he knows exactly what he’s doing, and thinks he’s doing it on purpose.
“Well,” You admit, “I do love your cooking.”
Shuffling out of his hold when the sensation of his mouth against your neck becomes unbearable, you turn and finally settle your attention firmly on the chaotic mess of Jason’s hair. Strands stick up at odd angles from where he’s slept, soft curls knotted together on the side of his head above his ear. He looks dishevelled.
He looks unbearably domestic.
You feel suddenly fond, maybe even warm. But not in the same way you get when he sends you a video, or a photo. It’s different. It’s softer. Almost like stumbling into a patch of warm sun when you’re just starting to feel cold.
Unexpected. Comforting.
Jason yawns and stretches his arms above his head. The thick curve of his biceps catch your eye and you’re reminded of his strength, of how utterly big he is.
The sleeves of his t-shirt pull tight over the muscle and there’s something almost unhinged tugging at your ribs, wanting you desperately to sink your teeth into him.
A relieved little groan slips out of his pretty mouth when his shoulder cracks and you respond with an almost silent whine.
Glancing down you watch as his shirt starts to ride up, exposing a thin strip of warm skin. The sight of his tummy makes you lightheaded, makes you press your tongue to the backs of your teeth.
Dragging the tips of your fingers over his exposed stomach Jason sucks in a sharp breath. It’s almost like a flinch with the way his entire abdomen tightens up, muscles preparing for a hit you would never land.
It reminds you that not everyone touches him with the intent of gentle, almost innocent exploration. Even worse: it reminds you that the action is so well ingrained in his head that he’s been hit there more than once; that he’s been hit enough that every touch there is expected to bring pain.
It fills you with a quiet sort of hurt.
It’s the same hurt you get when you catch sight of bruises scattering dark and heavy over his skin. When you see his knuckles swollen and discoloured. When you watch him move out of the corner of your eye and see him wince because he’s pulled at a still healing wound.
Endless. Agonising.
The pads of your fingers sweep slowly against his skin, tracing the dips and grooves of his navel. You brush lightly over multiple thick, angry lines of raised scar tissue and Jason makes a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat—the healed skin horribly sensitive—and you can’t ignore the way you ache between your legs.
There’s the slightest brush of his happy trail against the pad of your pointer finger and you follow it down until you meet the elastic of his sweatpants. Tucking your finger just underneath the waistband Jason’s abdomen flexes and he quickly clears his throat, making you look up.
His cheeks are flushed.
You realise a little too late that he’s not wearing anything underneath his sweats.
“Can I put my arms down now?”
“Only if you make me waffles.” You reply, removing your palm from his tummy. “And let me use your shower. And also maybe take a little nap with me.”
Jason sniggers, amused. “Anything else?”
Your eyes slant to his mouth.
You think of the nights spent having his head in your lap. Fighting over who gets the last bite of food. Playing hide and seek in the middle of the supermarket because it makes him laugh. You think of the silly way you send each other stupid selfies. The way he plays pranks on you when he’s bored.
You think of how when he’s hurt and bleeding out somewhere in Gotham he calls you, says your name in that quiet, revenant way he does when he’s scared; almost like calling your name will save him.
It would be so easy.
“Uhh–no, that’s it.” You manage to get out, voice thick, distracted. “But I'll let you know if I think of anything else.”
**
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