Work Text:
Jason knows Slade would rather be with Dick.
The man has never said as much, but Jason's not stupid. He's seen the way Slade looks at Dick—can read an entire history in the way they move with each other, the glances they exchange.
Jason thought he could handle it.
It’s hardly the first time he’s been someone’s second choice. He thought as long as Slade never called him by the wrong name, he would be fine.
He should have known better.
Jason has the terrible habit of catching feelings for anyone he sleeps with more than once. He thought he would be safe with Slade. Slade’s an asshole. He’s gruff, stubborn, emotionally unavailable, and—honestly—kind of a deadbeat.
Exactly the kind of guy Jason thought he wouldn’t fall for in a million years.
But…
Slade is—good. For him.
He shouldn’t be.
But…
He’s honest. He doesn’t lie to Jason.
Doesn’t withhold information ‘for his best interest.’ He gives him the facts, no matter what they are, and lets Jason make the decision.
And whatever decision Jason makes, he respects.
Slade treats Jason like an equal. A partner.
He doesn’t get upset when Jason is prickly, doesn’t chafe at his humor. Doesn't judge Jason's coping mechanisms—or lack thereof. Jason can be himself, and Slade just—
Accepts it.
It’s… refreshing. Invigorating. Part of what drew him to Slade in the first place.
And Slade himself…
He’s funny. His humor is dry. Sharp. Almost always delivered in a slow, deadpan drawl. They play off of each other, the two of them, in a way that leaves Jason feeling giddy.
There’s also a softness to him, under the gruff exterior. Jason is one of the few who get to see it—experience it. The gentleness in Slade’s hands when Jason is injured. The sweet tooth he rarely indulges, the fondness he holds for animals—especially the pathetic strays Jason can never stop himself from feeding.
And—he’s trying, with his kids. He reaches out to them—haltingly, stiltedly. Keeps tabs on them from a distance. Never hesitates to answer on the rare occasion they ask for help.
Each moment softened Jason a little more, lowering his walls bit by bit. He hadn’t even noticed it was happening until it was too late.
It’s just his luck, to fall for someone who will only ever see him as second-best.
It's also just his luck that their latest job leads them to Bludhaven. Jason has been tracking a smuggling ring for some time. They deal in anything from weapons to artifacts to drugs, and there are rumors that they've started to branch out into people—though Jason has yet to find any proof of that.
He wants them shut down regardless.
Slade had shown up in Gotham a few days ago. His latest client hired him to retrieve some stolen property in the ring's possession, and—knowing that Jason has been investigating them—suggested a team up.
Jason had jumped on it, of course.
He hadn't known then that they would end up tracking the ringleaders to the docks of Bludhaven.
Jason is uneasy from the moment they enter the city. He's been in Blud before without attracting Dick's attention. So has Slade. But this time…
He just knows they won't be that lucky. Not when Dick is one of the last people Jason wants to see.
His hopes are raised when they make it all the way to the docks unaccosted—and then immediately dashed when Slade nudges him slightly, nodding his head in the direction of a familiar figure.
Nightwing.
He beat them there.
Jason swears under his breath, and Slade laughs at him; low and rich.
“What,” he murmurs. “Don’t you want to see your brother?”
“Not my brother,” Jason corrects, though his heart isn’t in it. He just wants to get this over with.
It's not worth trying to sneak around 'Wing. As little as he wants to work with him, Jason wants to work against him even less. The risk of something going wrong, of the ringleaders getting away, is too high.
So, after sharing a brief look with Slade, they step closer; Jason deliberately scraping his boot against the concrete to alert Dick to their presence.
Nightwing spins, one hand falling on his escrima sticks. His shoulders loosen slightly when he catches sight of Jason, almost letting go of the stick before he spots Slade as well.
His expression goes tight. Jason can see him sizing Slade up. Jason isn't sure whether to be pleased or offended. On one hand, it feels good to be trusted. On the other hand, he's just as much of a threat as Slade is.
Slade just looks amused.
"Hood. Deathstroke. Fancy seeing you here," Dick says, faux cheery. "What brings you two all the way to Bludhaven?"
“A job,” Slade answers, before Jason can. “Nothing lethal. This time.”
Dick glances at Jason. He can't help but feel a little warm. There will always be a part of him that craves Dick's respect. His approval.
He knows in this case it's just because his competition is Slade but—
It's nice, all the same.
Even if he doesn't want it to be.
He nods in response to Dick's silent question. "Tracking some smugglers," he says. "You familiar?"
"Unfortunately," Dick says. His hand finally slips from his weapon. "Well, then. Since we're here for the same reason, what do you say we work together?"
Jason nods curtly. Dick is as bad as Bruce when it comes to wanting to know what's going on in his city. Even if he hadn't been aware of the smuggling ring, there was no getting out of Dick's supervision.
Easier just to agree.
"Sure, kid," Slade drawls.
Dick flashes him a smile. It's not one Jason has seen from him before—it's… coy, almost. Flirtatious. His stomach tightens at the sight of it, skin prickling as Dick says—
"You remember the last time we were on the same side?"
Jason grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
"I remember, birdie."
Dick's smile grows, exposing his teeth—but Jason cuts him off before he can speak.
"Have you been here long enough to do recon?"
Jason is relieved to see Dick's face sober.
"Perimeter check didn't yield much. Outside security is minimal—I doubt they want to call attention to themselves. I was just about to head to the roof when you got here."
"What are we waiting for, then? Let's go." And without waiting for an answer, Jason strides forward, drawing his grapple.
The fight goes smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Jason knew Slade and Dick had a history. He's heard the stories, the rumors. Read Bruce's files and Dick's reports—both what was written and what wasn't. And it's not the first time he's witnessed them interacting.
It is the first time he's seen them work together, though.
There's a smoothness to it—an ease that comes only from years of knowing one another. Watching them together reminds him of being Robin; of watching the way Dick and Bruce so naturally fell into step together. Wondering if he would ever know that ease, that familiarity, or if he would always feel like a kid playing dress up, in clothes too big for him.
Except this feeling is so much worse.
Doesn't help that Dick won't stop flirting. That Slade barely responds doesn't make him feel better. He knows how Slade is. Mission first. He's got a reputation to keep, after all.
By the time he and Dick have finished zip-tying the crooks, he feels sick to his stomach. All he wants to do is go home, curl up with a book and lose himself somewhere else for a while.
But—
Dammit. This is his mission too, and he'll see it through.
Even if he's not needed.
As soon as Slade has retrieved his client's property, Dick phones the cops. Then, they leave, settling on a nearby rooftop to wait.
The response time of Bludhaven's police is on par with Gotham's, these days—an improvement from when Dick first moved in, for sure. But that still means a fifteen-minute wait… and that's if they rush. On a normal day, Jason wouldn't mind the wait. Oh, he'd complain about it, because the response time to an emergency call shouldn't be that fucking slow, but overall— He wouldn't be too upset about it.
Today…
Well.
He finds himself hoping for one of those rare times a patrol car was actually near their area, or something.
It's not so bad at first. They cluster near one of the industrial AC units on the roof of the building. It's large enough to provide adequate cover; to hide them from any eyes that might turn skyward—though, honestly, they rarely do; even in cities with active vigilante presence. Only the guilty, desperate, or hero obsessed find themselves searching the rooftops.
Dick leans back against it. "I hear you two have been working together a lot lately," he says, lightly.
Jason's shoulders tighten, raising slightly, up toward his ears. He makes a conscious effort to lower them back down. "That's none of your business, bird brain," he snaps—at the same time as Slade drawls,
"Don't tell me you're going all protective big brother, now, Grayson."
Jason expects Dick to snap at Slade about names—but he doesn't. It's… strange. Dick is almost as protective of his identity as Bruce is. Instead, Dick raises his hands, fingers splayed, and says, "I'm not judging. Just curious, that's all."
"Well, keep your curiosity to yourself," Jason snaps.
"So grumpy, little wing," Dick chides lightly. It feels mocking—patronizing. Jason grinds his teeth rather than respond.
He regrets it when Dick, taking the hint that Jason isn't in the mood to talk, turns his attention to Slade instead.
"Been a while since I've seen you in Bludhaven," he says idly, curiously. Jason gets the feeling that, if they weren't tucked away in his holsters, he would be spinning his escrima sticks around his knuckles.
Slade shrugs. "My contracts have kept me elsewhere," he says, simply. "Thought you'd be glad to get rid of me."
Dick hums in the back of his throat, noncommittal.
Slade snorts. "Ah, my mistake. I forgot how controlling you bats are. You'd rather I stay where you can keep an eye on me, is that it?"
"I never said that," Dick says, defensive.
He doesn't deny it.
Slade huffs, amused, like he's thinking the same thing. He doesn't point it out, though. Instead, he lets the silence speak for itself.
Dick looks away, finally, and the tips of his ears are red. "You spent so many years up my ass I forgot what it was like not having you pop up in every corner, that's all," he says.
Jason doesn't know if he meant the double entendre, but it sticks out to him anyway; makes his stomach turn. He knows Slade—knows even if Dick didn't mean what he said, Slade won't be able to resist capitalizing on the words, and Jason—
Fuck.
He doesn't want to stick around for it.
"This is taking fucking forever," he says, reaching for his grapple. "I'm going to do a sweep of the area, make sure everything's still clear."
The only reason he waits for a response is because he doesn't want to look like he's running away… again.
Even if that's exactly what he's doing.
Slade gives him a short nod, while Dick frowns. "Are you sure—"
"I'm sure," Jason cuts him off. "Just need to burn some energy, you know how it is." If anyone should, it's Dick.
Dick's expression clears. "Alright. Call for backup if you need it."
Jason rolls his eyes—moving his head so the expression comes across, despite his helmet. "You're not my mother, Dickwing."
He steps off the edge of the roof, firing the grapple just as the drop hits his stomach. Doing it this way jerks the arm, but Jason doesn't mind a little pain.
It's always been one of the best distractions.
Jason takes his time with the sweep, though he doubts there will be anything to find. Their arrival was shocking enough, the fight over quick enough, that none of them had time to call for back-up. Doesn't completely rule out the potential that someone might come checking, but—
Jason isn't particularly worried. This meeting was supposed to last a while, after all.
He also doubts they missed anyone, or that any of the thugs are going to recover enough to get out of their bonds.
But it was a convenient excuse, and it meant he could stretch his limbs a little.
Of course, now that Jason would be alright with them taking a while, the sound of sirens starts to grow louder; the flashing lights brighter. He grimaces, but turns around and starts swinging back to the rooftop.
He found exactly what he'd expected: nothing.
At least the cops arriving means this is almost over, and he can go home.
He lands on the rooftop just as the sirens grow close enough to be ear-splitting.
Dick has stepped into Slade's space and risen up onto his toes, his lips a hair's breadth from the skin of Slade's ear. Jason can't hear what he's saying... but he doesn't need to. He can read his lips just fine.
"I've got a safe house nearby. Care to meet me there later?"
The sirens cut.
Jason doesn't wait for Slade to respond. Instead, he just says, "Right, well. It's been fun, but I'm pretty sure that," he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, toward the assembled police cars, "means my job here is done."
This time, Jason doesn't bother making his exit feel more natural. He just pulls out his grapple and flies.
Jason keeps a couple of safe houses in Bludhaven. More than one of Gotham's criminal networks are active there as well, and it helps to keep at least a slight presence there. Just strong enough that no criminal ever feels truly safe from Red Hood's wrath. He knows Dick is aware of one of them. He might even be aware of two—but Jason has one registered to an alias he knows hasn't popped up on Oracle's radar yet.
Jason isn't quite as familiar with Bludhaven as he is Gotham. Gotham's streets are baked into his bones. Bludhaven… he's spent enough time in the city to know his way around, but he still has to pay attention to where he's swinging.
It's not enough to keep him from dwelling.
From turning over every word, every phrase, every little touch and gesture that passed between Dick and Slade tonight.
The way Dick had looked, slotting into Slade's space like it was natural for him to be there. The way he'd let Slade get away with calling him by his real name—and not just that but—
He'd called him birdie, hadn't he?
The same way he called Jason 'little bird.'
Does he call Dick that too? How many of the names he's called Jason has he also called Dick? How many times did Jason melt at the sound of that gruff voice calling him, "little bird," and how often was Slade picturing Dick instead? Sure, Slade's never called him by Dick's actual name, but—well. That's just semantics, isn't it?
God, he's so fucking stupid.
Ever since Bruce took him in, he's been followed by comparisons to Dick. Some people were nice about it. Oh… don't you look just like your big brother! Others… weren't. When did the Grayson kid get so ugly?
He thought maybe it would stop, now that he was older and legally dead to boot—
But it didn't.
Sure, there were no more random strangers commenting on it—but the hero community? The villains? The amount of times he had been propositioned because they thought he would make a nice stand in for Dick—
It sucked.
It sucked.
He just didn't usually let himself think about it because—
What did it matter? He was never going to measure up to the Golden Boy. Why try?
But now—
He can't stop.
It makes him sick.
Sick.
Jason tears off his helmet as soon as he clambers through the fire escape window and into the living room. He tosses it; lets it bounce on the floor with a metallic thud before rolling away. He shouldn't be so harsh with his gear, but—fuck.
The helmet can take it.
And if it can't, well.
Then he needed a new one anyway.
It's no easier to breathe with the helmet gone.
He doesn't know why he's acting like this. Why it's affecting him so deeply. It's not like didn't know what he was getting into. Falling in love is his own damn fault.
Fuck.
When, when, is he going to learn his damn lesson?!
Jason takes a deep, shuddering breath, laying his forehead against the cool wall. Don't think about it. Don't think about Slade following Dick to his apartment, don't think about Dick's hands in Slade's hair, Slade's hands gripping his ass. Don't think about the way Slade probably knows every trap and catch in Dick's armor; knows just how to peel it off of him.
Don't think about how flexible Dick is, how gorgeous.
Don't think about how he isn't. How he's a mess of ruined flesh and breaks that never healed quite right. Don't—
Don't.
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly; his throat tight and his chest aching.
He needs to get out of his armor.
He pushes off the wall, fumbling with the catches on his chest piece.
He's barely gotten it off when he hears the window opening again—barely has time to stiffen before there's a long line of heat at his back. Slade. Jason exhales, shaky, just as a warm mouth finds the column of his neck. Hands skim up his sides, tugging his undershirt up from where it's tucked into his tac pants, exposing a thin strip of skin at his navel.
Jason shivers, a soft noise leaving him.
Encouraged, Slade steps around to his front, crowding him in until Jason's back hits the wall. His hands slip under Jason's shirt, splaying over his ribs.
The easy manhandling—the size of Slade's hands on his skin—
Jason can't help but moan. Heat pools in his belly, spreading through his core, making his fingers tingle.
When Slade kisses him, Jason can't help but respond; opening his mouth and allowing Slade to devour him whole. His hands hook around Slade's shoulders; fingers digging into the Ikon suit, pulling him closer, closer still.
Slade’s hand slips around to Jason’s lower back. The other drags slowly up Jason’s side, finding every sensitive spot on his way up.
"You're so tense, little bird," Slade murmurs against his mouth.
It's like Slade's poured ice water over him.
Jason turns his face, breaking the kiss. His hands slip from Slade's shoulders, falling to hang loosely at his sides.
“Don’t call me that.”
Slade snorts, sitting back a little. His hands slip under the hem of Jason’s shirt. “What, you want me to call you Jaybird instead? Bluejay? That’s ridiculous.” There’s a mocking lilt in his voice.
“Or, maybe, you could use my fucking name,” Jason snaps, his skin feeling hot and prickly. Abruptly, he’s done for the night. He doesn’t want Slade’s hands on him any more.
But, before he can shove them off—Slade removes them himself, sitting back, his eye roving over Jason, picking him apart. “Okay, Jason,” he says—and it's so fucked that his name almost sounds wrong in Slade's mouth. “What’s wrong?”
Jason laughs, bitter and caustic. “Why are you here?”
Slade’s brow furrows.
“You should be at Golden Boy’s apartment right now,” Jason says bitterly, straightening his undershirt. “Not slumming it up with me.”
The furrow in Slade’s brow deepens. “Why would I go to Grayson’s place?”
Jason gives him a flat look. “He all but propositioned you, old man. Don’t tell me your hearing is going.”
“I heard him.”
Jason doesn’t know how to read the expression on Slade’s face. It’s not one he’s ever seen before.
“I’m not interested in Grayson, kid.”
It’s Jason’s turn to snort. “Please. We both know why you’re with me. But he’s here now. He wants you. Why settle for the cheap knock-off when you can have the real thing?”
This expression Jason knows how to read—anger. Normally, his heart rate ratchet up a few notches, and he'd poke at Slade until that temper burst. He did so enjoy reaping the consequences… especially with how creative Slade could be.
Tonight, though, his heart isn't in it.
“Is that what you think is happening?”
"Isn't it?" Jason counters. Slade's hands have slackened on his waist, and he takes the opportunity to put some distance between them, moving more toward the middle of the room.
Slade watches him, turning to keep his eye laser trained on Jason.
"Look," Jason says, straightening his shirt. "I don't— There's never been any illusions about what we are. About—about why you wanted me. Okay?" Even when Jason had gone and—foolishly—fallen in love with him, he hadn't bothered trying to delude himself. He'd fantasized, maybe, but he was always careful not to confuse that with reality. "So don't— You don't have to be… chivalrous, or whatever."
The longer Jason talks, the stonier Slade's face gets. He's unreadable again. For the first time since they met—perhaps for the first time ever—Jason feels… intimidated by Slade.
"When," Slade finally speaks, his voice low, sounding like it's been scraped over concrete, "have you ever known me to be chivalrous?"
It's rare… but Jason can think of a few times.
There's one that sticks out. A contract Slade had taken in Brazil. Jason hadn't meant to tag along. The target had been the kind of asshole that made his blood boil, a rapist and a pedophile and a murderer. Lucky he'd run into Slade when he did—Deathstroke wouldn't have taken kindly to a stolen bounty, whether intentional or not.
When Slade had proposed working together, Jason had known that would mean giving up the ability to kill the man himself. He'd been disappointed—but as long as the man was dead, he didn't care how it happened.
Except—
When they'd set up the sniper's nest…
Jason starts, taking the rifle on instinct when Slade thrusts it, butt first, toward his chest.
"What— Why—"
Slade shrugs. "Not like anyone but us is going to know who pulled the trigger." Something like a smile tugs at his mouth. "Besides, you've earned this one, kid."
Jason barely resists kissing him.
There were other moments, too. Holding the door open for Jason when they were setting up a temporary safe house in Siberia. Letting him sleep first when they'd been roughing it down south, even though both of them were exhausted. Not moving after Jason fell asleep on his shoulder, even though he couldn't have been comfortable.
But rather than verbalize any of that, Jason just shrugs.
Slade takes it as agreement. "Exactly," he says, and steps closer. He doesn't crowd into Jason's space again, but he moves until they're close enough to reach out and touch, if they want. "I don't want Grayson," he says, enunciating each word clearly. "I haven't wanted Grayson in—a long time." Slade's eye darts rapidly, searching Jason's face—and then his arm moves, gloved fingers trailing over Jason's forearm, down to his hand. "I don't want anyone but you."
The words are spoken softly—almost tenderly.
Each one of them strikes Jason's heart like a well-sharpened knife. They hurt.
"Don't— Don't lie," he hisses, jerking his arm away. "Not—not about that."
He's overplaying his hand, but— He can't—
He can't.
"I'm not," Slade says, low and insistent and sounding for all the world like he's sincere, like he means it. "I'm not. I thought you knew."
Jason can't breathe. There's something large and spiked caught in his throat, pricking him with every swallow.
Slade steps a little bit closer. He is in Jason's space now, but Jason can't bring himself to step away, even though all that's at his back is open air. Slade's hands come up again, but this time, it's not Jason's hands or waist he touches.
Instead, he cups Jason's face, his thumbs resting on Jason's cheeks and stroking softly. Gently.
Like Jason really is a little bird; delicate and fragile and precious.
Slade's never touched him like this. For all his moments of gentleness and care, his touch has always come with a bit of roughness. Jason's never minded. He likes the way Slade touches him, like he knows Jason won't break; like he can't get enough of him. Likes the easy way Slade can manhandle him, the way he could keep Jason anywhere he wanted, no matter what Jason thinks about the idea.
But this—
He doesn't know the last time he was touched like this.
"I've never been good at this kind of thing, but with you… it's easy. You make it easy. You understand me in a way I don't think anyone ever has, and so… I never have to try to find the words. I thought…" His mouth quirks, one side lifting up in a wry, humorless smile. "I thought you knew how I felt, too."
Jason shakes his head slowly, as best he can. He raises his hands to grip Slade's forearms. Not to move him away, but because he needs something, anything, to ground him.
"I didn't," he says—and is that his voice? He sounds like he swallowed gravel.
"Yeah. Yeah, I see that now." Slade strokes his cheeks with his thumbs. The pads of the Ikon suit are a little rough against his skin but— It's not bad. Not bad at all. "C'mon, kid. Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours."
Jason can feel his face flush—feels warm and tingly all over, in a way he's not quite sure is good or bad. He feels… He feels like he's in freefall. Like he's been falling since Dick invited Slade back to his place and still has yet to land.
Nothing feels real.
But—
Fuck. He desperately wants it to be.
His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips. For once, Slade doesn't track the movement. He definitely sees it, eye flickering down before it comes back up, focusing solidly on Jason's eyes.
Like how Jason's feeling matters more to him than—than getting a good fuck out of him.
It's—
Fuck.
It's too much.
So rather than answer him, Jason surges forward; tightening his grip on Slade's forearms as he crashes their mouths together. There's a soft, startled sound from Slade, and then he's kissing back.
And for a few moments, Jason can get lost in the heat of his mouth; the way their lips slide against each other, the slight hint of teeth scraping against his flesh, the flicker of tongue right after.
But then Slade breaks the kiss, holding Jason's face just a little bit more firmly to keep from chasing after him.
"Jay," he says—and that, at least, sounds more natural; sounds like something Jason could get used to, in Slade's rough drawl. "C'mon, kid. Talk to me." Slade snorts softly. "Shouldn't be hard—normally I can't get you to shut up." The words are soft; the humor almost entirely swallowed by fondness.
It just adds to the feeling of something not being right. He has to be dreaming—or maybe he slipped into another reality—or maybe he's under the influence of some new concoction from a rogue.
Or maybe it's Slade, maybe he's the one under the influence of something. His enhancements burn through most drugs before they can really take effect, but it's not impossible for him to be affected by something.
"It's hard to believe this is real," Jason says, finally. Because Slade has been honest with him—or at least believes he has been. It's only fair that Jason is too. "I don't… People don't want me."
Not strictly true. Jason has had people approach him before, people who have never even heard of Dick Grayson.
But those who have—
Well. Unless Dickiebird has managed to burn bridges, he's always everyone's first choice.
And sometimes even if he has burnt bridges.
Just look at fucking Bruce. Couldn't be in the same room as Dick without fighting, but hell if he didn't compare Jason to him at every turn. Dick could have done it better. Dick would have done this. Why can't you be more like Dick.
He stopped eventually, when Jason had grown more into the Robin role—but the words left their mark all the same.
Slade's mouth tightens. "That's their loss. I might be missing an eye, but even I'm not blind enough to miss a good thing when I see it."
Jason exhales. Closes his eyes. Turns his face into one of Slade's hands, so his nose brushes his wrist.
Slade lets him, gives Jason a moment to just breathe.
Then Jason opens his eyes. "Can we just…" He wets his lips again. "I need— I need a shower. Can we… can we put a pin in this? Just, just for a bit?"
He just needs a little space, so he can think.
Slade searches his face again, then nods, letting his hands fall from Jason's face.
Jason immediately feels bereft—but he squashes the feeling. "I'll just—be right back," he says—and then makes his escape for the third time that night.
The spray hits Jason's back. The water pressure isn't as warm as he likes, but the heat is close; seeping into his skin and loosening tensed muscles. For a minute or two, he just stands like that, head tipped back and his eyes closed, nothing in his brain except for the hiss of water.
Then, finally, he heaves a soft sigh, reaching for the shampoo.
He turns the night's events over in his mind, frame by frame, the same way he would with a case. Re-examining them, now that he has new evidence to work with.
"You remember the last time we worked together?" Dick's voice had been flirtatious, suggestive. It had slipped under Jason's skin like a well-sharpened blade. It still does, prickling as he scrubs the shampoo over his scalp.
He hadn't paid as much attention to Slade's response.
"I remember." Flat. Dry. His body language had been—neutral. Not closed off, but not leaning in either.
Jason tips his head back and feels the soap run down his back.
On the rooftop, after…
Slade had teased Dick, but— It hadn't really been flirtatious, had it?
Then again… with Slade, sometimes, it was hard to tell. And when Dick had gotten into his space— He hadn't looked for long, but the image is burned in his brain regardless.
Slade's hands hadn't been on Dick. That—
That seemed pretty significant. Because when Jason invited himself into Slade's space—well. Usually at least one of Slade's hands would find their way to his waist, or his ass, pulling him closer. He hadn't done that to Dick.
And maybe Jason had just gotten there before he had the chance to, but—
He doesn't think so.
Especially since Dick had been on his tiptoes. If nothing else, Slade's hand would have automatically come up to steady him, yet… it hadn't.
"When have you ever known me to be chivalrous?" Slade had asked him, and—true, it wasn't often, but… Every example Jason had managed to come up with had been centered around him.
And maybe that's the trick. Because he's been thinking about Slade's behavior with Dick all night, but what about how he behaves with Jason? All of those little moments that Jason had dismissed as wishful thinking, the ones he'd filed away to fuel the fantasies he was afraid to ever actually have. Maybe—
Maybe they hadn't been entirely wishful thinking after all.
If this isn't real… Jason thinks it might break him.
But it's far, far too late to snuff out the hope burning in his chest.
He finishes washing up and steps out of the shower. The bathroom is cloudy with steam, the mirror so fogged Jason can only make out the vaguest suggestion of himself in it. He doesn't normally spend so much time in the bath. The hot water is probably almost gone.
He feels a little guilty about it, but also—
He needed it.
He towels off and gets dressed in a faded t-shirt and low-riding sweatpants. It's not the best he's ever looked, but Slade's seen him in worse condition before.
Hell, Slade's left him in worse condition before.
Jason opens the door and pads out into the hall. The light is on in the kitchen. He finds Slade there, leaning against the counter. He apparently took the opportunity to raid Jason's closet while he was in the shower and… the back of Jason's neck feels hot.
It shouldn't. Slade's just wearing a pair of Wonder Woman lounge pants and a Henley but—
Something about them being his is doing something to him.
"This place is better stocked than I expected," Slade says in greeting, a mug in his hands. There's another one on the shitty fold out table in the kitchen.
Jason takes it; feels the heat of it warm his palms. He expects to smell coffee, but instead—it's tea. An herbal blend, he thinks. "Sometimes, when B is getting on my nerves, I like to come over here for a while. He never thinks to check Bludhaven." Mostly because the rivalry between Gotham and Bludhaven is almost as strong as that of Gotham and Metropolis.
Slade snorts. "Of course not. This city is a hell hole."
Jason laughs into his cup. "You can say that again."
"This city is a hell hole," Slade repeats dryly, and Jason laughs again; having to hold his mug in both hands to keep from spilling it.
The laughter fades when he looks at Slade. His expression is the softest Jason has ever seen it. Heat spreads over Jason's face. He looks away, staring into his cup instead, like he can find answers inside the dark liquid within.
Silence falls between them.
Jason wouldn't describe it as comfortable, but he wouldn't call it uncomfortable either. It's weighted down with the knowledge that, sooner or later, they're going to have to talk about it.
Jason just has no idea where to begin—and he doubts Slade does either.
The quiet stretches long enough for Jason to finish his tea. He sets the mug down on the table, and feels that silence grow heavier.
"I don't know what to say," Jason says finally. "This isn't… I never let myself imagine this, us, as a possibility." He runs his tongue between the seam of his lips. "Looking back now I… I can see it. All the stuff that I missed. But I—
"I don't know how to believe it."
The words are clumsy, fumbling. They still manage to scrape him raw.
He can't quite look at Slade.
There's a few beats of silence, and then he hears Slade set his own mug down. He crosses the distance between them, until he's close enough Jason can feel his body heat. When Slade's hands settle on his hips, he can't help but lean into him, arms raising to clutch the back of Slade's shirt. He rests his forehead on Slade's shoulder.
"That's alright," Slade says, turning his head so his lips brush the shell of Jason's ear. "I can be a very patient man when the rewards are worth it." He squeezes Jason's waist, as if to emphasize exactly what the reward is.
Jason's face gets hotter. It seems unreal that anyone could think of him as some kind of prize.
Slade hums. "Why don't we start by letting me show you?" His voice drops until it's almost a growl. It rumbles through his chest—Jason can feel it.
He shudders, pebbles forming on his skin. "Please." Slade is far better at speaking with actions than he is with words. Jason may have missed every sign of his feelings up until now—but only because he didn't let himself look. He needs to see them now, outside of his memories.
Slade has never lied to him before—but he needs to see it all the same.
Slade's breath tickles Jason's ear as he laughs. His hands slip down to Jason's ass, squeezing. Jason moans and turns his face toward Slade's neck, mouthing messily at his pulse. Slade makes a low sound of pleasure, kneading at Jason's ass until Jason is pushing back into his hands. His pulse quickens in his chest as heat spreads through his skin.
Slade's hands slip lower, bracing under Jason's ass.
Jason knows what he wants without needing to be told. His legs tense. When Slade lifts, Jason jumps, wrapping his thighs around Slade's waist. The sudden shift in gravity makes his stomach swoop. It clenches at the way Slade hardly seems phased, taking his weight without any effort at all.
He tangles his fingers in Slade's hair and bends down to kiss him. Slade opens to him, letting Jason lick into his mouth; lets him trace over his tongue and teeth as spit drips down their chins.
Despite his training, Jason runs out of breath before Slade does—he turns his head to suck in a lungful of air. Slade starts to move, finally, as he mouths at Jason's jaw, kissing and nipping until he finds the junction where it meets his skull. He sucks a bruise there. Jason's fingers dig into his shoulders.
He's vaguely aware of their path through the living room, down the short hallway, through the threshold of the bedroom. Slade nips his ear—and then Jason's stomach flips again as Slade tosses him onto the bed.
He bounces once, twice—and then Slade clambers over him, crowding him against the sheets. Jason's tongue darts out, wetting his lips. Slade tracks the movement hungrily; the glint of his eye predatory. Fitting, because Jason certainly feels like prey; caught and waiting to be devoured.
Slade bends his head. Their noses brush. Jason can feel Slade's breath on his mouth. His lips part in anticipation, prepared for Slade to kiss him roughly, bruisingly—for him to lick into his mouth until he's all Jason can taste.
Instead—
Slade kisses him almost tenderly.
Jason melts into the mattress; a soft, breathy noise escaping him. He slips his hands under Slade's shirt. He's so warm. Jason drags the pads of his fingers up Slade's sides. Slade shivers, nipping his bottom lip. Jason's mouth twitches. He licks at Slade's mouth—playful, teasing. Slade nips his tongue, too—and then sucks it into his mouth. Jason moans, dragging his nails down Slade's sides. Slade growls. The sound vibrates between them, stoking the heat growing in Jason's belly.
Slade breaks the kiss, and leaves a trail down Jason's neck; stopping to suck another bruise where his neck meets his shoulder.
"Fuck—Slade—" Jason tosses his head back. He digs his nails into Slade's skin—wishes he could dig them in deep enough to leave lasting marks, to put the same claim on Slade that Slade is putting on him.
Slade laughs against his skin. He presses a kiss to the bruise—Jason shudders again, his toes curling against the sheets.
"Shirt off," Slade commands, grabbing at the hem of Jason's top and tugging. Jason lifts up, raises his arms, allowing Slade to tug the shirt over his head and toss it over his shoulder.
Jason stops him from bending again with a hand on his shoulder. "You too," he demands, and Slade's mouth twitches. He sits back, though, and Jason watches as Slade crosses his arms and pulls his top up and off, letting it fly in the same direction as Jason's.
Jason's mouth waters at the sight of all that delicious skin—pale and unmarred, and covered in short gray hairs.
He doesn't get much time to appreciate the view, though, before Slade is on him again. Following the path he'd started at his neck, Slade starts kissing down his body. Experience has taught them both just how sensitive Jason's chest is—Slade has made him come just by playing with his nipples before—but this time, Slade doesn't linger.
Instead, he kisses down to Jason's sternum; lingering on the soft pouch of his abdomen before mouthing over his ribs, as if he means to map each one with his mouth. His fingers caress the other side, mapping them the same way. Jason doesn't bother holding back his noises, letting each sigh and moan fall from his mouth. His fingers tangle loosely in Slade's hair, white strands curling around his fingers.
The heat in his belly spreads through his groin. He can feel himself starting to swell. It won't be long before Slade will be able to feel it pressing against him.
Slade makes his way back to Jason's stomach, and then down toward his hips. He bites at his love handles. Jason's fingers tighten in his hair, tugging slightly. Slade growls again, and this time Jason swears he can feel it in his cock. It twitches—he moans, toes curling into the sheets.
"Slade—"
Slade bites him again. "Sounds so sweet when you say my name like that, Jay." His voice curls with heat and warmth and Jason whimpers.
"Slade," he says again. He doesn't mean it to be a tease—is helpless to do anything but say his name.
Slade makes a low, possessive noise and noses his way towards the v of Jason's groin, peeking out over his sweats. The feeling of his mouth there—the heat of his breath, the scrape of his stubble—
"Please."
Slade laughs. He nuzzles the trail of hair there. "Mm… you're lucky I'm feeling nice tonight, little bird," he says. "Or I'd make you ask for what you want."
Jason feels his face spasm—sees Slade catch it before he has a chance to straighten his face again.
Slade moves so that they're face to face again, and cups his cheek in one warm hand. "Jay?" he asks.
He sounds concerned.
Jason averts his eyes as he swallows. "The nickname." The memory of Slade calling Dick birdie is still too fresh in his mind, and he just—can't.
He feels Slade's exhale; the way his breath fans over Jason's face. Then Slade brushes a kiss over the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry," he says.
Jason grabs at Slade's face and pulls him down into the softest, briefest kiss he thinks they've ever exchanged. "S'okay," he whispers. "I do—I like the name." Admitting it makes him blush, though with his skin already reddened he doubts it shows. "Just— Not right now?"
Slade hums, smoothing a thumb over Jason's cheek. "Not right now," he agrees. Then he adds, "Not ever is also an option," like he thinks Jason needs to be reminded.
Maybe he does.
"Okay," he whispers. He turns toward Slade's hand, brushing his lips against the meat of his palm. Slade's hand lingers for a moment… and then slips away. He kisses his way back down toward Jason's groin again, though this time he doesn't stop anywhere. It feels good anyway—makes him feel warm and… and appreciated.
When Slade reaches his groin, he hooks his fingers in Jason's sweats and boxers, and then glances up at him, raising an eyebrow.
Jason flushes and nods—raising his hips so Slade can tug them over the swell of his ass. Slade tugs his socks off, too, leaving Jason completely bare beneath him.
He trails little kisses down Jason's groin, mouthing at the base of his cock and balls before nuzzling into his thigh.
Jason makes a soft, impatient noise.
"Patience, sweetheart," Slade chides. Jason hardly catches the rest of his sentence over the rush of blood in his ears. "I'll give you what you need."
Sweetheart.
No one's called him that in—a long time.
Not like this, anyway; tender and deliberate, a pet name meant just for him.
Slade bites and kisses at the tender skin of his inner thighs. His stubble scrapes over the skin—Jason knows he's doing it deliberately, the fucker, leaving him raw and tender in the best of ways. He tangles his hand back in Slade's hair. The other he fists in the sheets. God, he wants to touch himself, but he knows trying would just make Slade bat his hand away. Might even make him take longer to touch where Jason needs him most.
Not that he's not taking long enough already.
Slade doesn't stop at his thighs. He makes sure to get behind Jason's knees too—even kisses down one of Jason's calves, down to his foot. The high whine that comes out of him when Slade presses his mouth to the bottom of his foot is enough to have him throwing his arm over his face in embarrassment, his face and ears burning.
Slade just laughs and flicks his tongue against the highest point of his arch. Jason's toes curl, and it's only Slade's grip on his ankle that keeps his reflexive kick from being anything more than a twitch.
And that—
His cock twitches. It's hard now; curving up over his belly, precum dripping onto his skin, glistening against the dark hair on his stomach.
"Slade," he pleads.
Slade laughs again. He kisses Jason's ankle, and then slides his hands up Jason's legs to hook around his thighs and lift his legs over his shoulders. Jason doesn't offer any resistance—just a soft whimper when he feels the heat of Slade's breath on his cock.
Slade licks him from base to tip. He wraps his lips around the veins, giving them gentle sucks. Jason groans, tugging at Slade's hair, looking out from under his arm just in time to catch the wicked glint Slade's eye before he wraps his lips around Jason's tips and swirls his tongue.
Jason throws his head back with a long, throaty moan.
Slade hums around his cock—his hips jerk. Rather than hold him down… Slade just takes him deeper, bobbing his head until he's swallowed Jason all the way down to the root.
Jason's thighs clamp tight around his head. "Slade!" He buries both hands in Slade's hair, holding on tight. His world has narrowed completely to the hot, wet suction of Slade's mouth.
Slade cups his balls, rolling them in his palm as he swallows around Jason's cock. Jason pants, digging his heels into Slade's back. Slade swallows again, and then eases up; starting to bob his head and move his tongue. His hands aren't idle, either. One keeps rolling his balls—the other comes up to work in tandem with his mouth, fluttering and squeezing the base of Jason's cock.
Sweat beads on Jason's skin. He can feel it pooling under his arms, the backs of his knees, at the small of his back. Curls stick to his forehead, and he can taste salt on his lips. A knot of pleasure has formed in his belly, drawing tighter and tighter as Slade keeps touching him, sucking him.
Slade gives his balls a gentle tug—then lets go. He drags his fingers through the drool dripping down his chin and presses them against his perineum, massaging. Jason keens, core flexing as his hips twitch up, down, chasing more.
He feels Slade huff a laugh—and then those fingers slip lower, tracing around the tight muscle of his rim. It bears down—Jason's breath hitches—and then Slade swallows him whole.
Jason shouts, arching off the bed, curving toward Slade as his orgasm rocks through him; powerful and sudden and almost painful in its intensity.
Slade eases up just in time to keep from choking—and then swallows, again and again, suckling at Jason's cock until he's drained him of every last drop. Jason collapses back against the bed, chest heaving, heart racing. His legs fall, dangling limply over Slade's shoulders until he gently lowers them back onto the bed. Then, Slade trails kisses up Jason's sternum, all the way up to his mouth.
This time, there's no almost about it. Slade's kiss is tender, sweet. Jason sighs against his mouth as he wraps his arms around Slade's neck, pulling him closer. He wants to feel Slade's weight on him, pinning him to the sheets. Wants to bask in the warmth of his skin, the smell of sweat and sex and Slade.
He doesn't know how long Slade kisses him—only that, eventually, Jason can no longer ignore the hot, insistent press of Slade's bulge against his skin.
"Fuck me," he whispers against Slade's mouth.
Slade shudders in his arms. "Yeah?" he rasps. His throat sounds wrecked. Jason's stomach clenches, spent cock twitching slightly.
"Yeah," he echoes. "Yeah—I want… I want to feel you."
Slade kisses him again, wet and messy. Jason groans. He can taste himself on Slade's tongue.
"Lube?" Slade asks.
"Bedside drawer." He thinks. If not, he keeps packets of lube in his suit. It's not as nice, but it'll do.
Or maybe he can convince Slade to just use spit.
Slade raises up onto his arm and opens the drawer. It doesn't take any rummaging for him to find the bottle. There's only about a fourth of the liquid left, but that's more than enough for their purposes.
As Slade sits back on his knees, Jason makes to turn over. Slade stops him with a hand on his chest.
"No. I want you just like this—on your back, where I can see you."
Jason flushes. "I— Okay." He eases back down against the pillows.
Slade pats his thigh. "Prop your hips up, sweetheart."
Right. Yes. Jason wedges a pillow under his hips while Slade pops the top off the lube and drizzles it over his fingers. Jason bites his lip at the sight. He draws his knees up, spreads his thighs.
It's not the first time Slade's fucked him face-to-face, but— This feels intimate in a way those encounters didn't. The vulnerability makes his stomach squirm, and he has to bite his lip harder to keep from saying something stupid.
He thinks Slade would understand…
…but if he didn't, Jason would never forgive himself for ruining this. Especially not before he even got a chance to enjoy it.
Like he can tell Jason has gone off in his head a bit, Slade jerks him back to reality by drizzling lube over his perineum, down his crack. He whines, shivering; his nipples grow harder, every shift of air sending a tiny thrill up his spine. His hole clenches—he can only imagine the view Slade has.
Slade smirks at him. He presses his fingers against Jason's hole, drawing tight little circles around it with his middle finger. Jason bears down—but Slade stops him, holding Jason in place with a hand on his stomach.
Jason whines—this time in frustration. "Slade," he demands.
"Patience, boy." Slade sounds amused, the fucker. "I told you. I'll give you what you need."
"You could hurry it up, old man," he snaps—and yelps when Slade pinches the back of his thigh.
Slade spreads more lube around his rim—and then presses two fingers inside him. The stretch burns a little, just enough to send a thrill up his spine. He groans, tossing his head back; mouth falling open.
Slade pumps them in and out, rubbing at Jason's walls and spreading his fingers. Just as Jason starts to adjust, his passage relaxing around the girth of two fingers—Slade pushes in a third, adding more lube in the process. Each thrust of his fingers makes an obscene squelching noise—but Jason can't find it in himself to be embarrassed. His thighs shake, his toes curl. His fingers twist into the sheets.
"Such a greedy boy," Slade rumbles as he curls his fingers. It's just a glancing brush over his prostate, but it makes stars burst in his eyes as he moans high and loud. A little drool dribbles out of the side of his mouth, smearing over his cheek. The pressure of Slade's hand on his belly makes the feeling so much more intense—and keeps him from chasing the feeling when Slade slips his fingers out, leaving him empty. He whines, confused.
Slade flashes him a grin, and then shucks his pants, freeing his cock from its trappings. It springs free, bobbing up towards his stomach. Slade is so hard it looks painful; thick cock flushed and swollen, precum leaking from the tip.
Jason swallows hard—and swallows harder when Slade gives himself a few firm strokes, smearing precum and lube over his shaft. Jason grips the back of his knees, lifting his legs toward his chest.
Slade hums his approval. "Good boy," he rumbles, petting Jason's flank.
Jason's breath hitches, cock twitching again at the words. It's no secret by this point that he enjoys being praised—but his face still burns. His hands clench around his knees as he fights the urge to cover his expression. He turns his head instead.
Slade laughs—warm instead of teasing. He kisses one of Jason's hands, near his knuckles. His heart flutters.
Then Slade grips Jason's hip with one hand, and with the other, he guides the head of his cock against Jason's hole. Jason relaxes for him as best he can. The head of Slade's cock enters him easily—both of them groaning at the feeling.
Jason expects Slade to fuck him the same way he'd fingered him. Instead—
Slade takes his time. He rocks into Jason with short, shallow thrusts as Jason pants. At some point, he lets go of his legs to grab at Slade's shoulders instead. His legs lock around Slade's waist, thigh muscles clenching as he tries to draw him deeper.
Slade is immovable.
It takes an eternity for him to bottom out—and as soon as he does, he stills.
Jason's nails dig into Slade's skin, hard enough he wouldn't be surprised if he's drawn blood. He's hard again; cock trapped between their bodies.
"Fuck, sweetheart," Slade breathes. "So fucking tight."
Jason clenches around him—Slade snarls, making him clench again, tighter, as he moans low in his chest.
Slade sinks his teeth into Jason's neck; biting down just shy of an artery. At the same time, he rocks his hips, shifting just enough that the head of his cock bumps right up against Jason's prostate.
Jason shouts. His cock twitches, precum spurting from the tip and smearing between their stomachs.
Slade grips his hips tight enough to bruise, holding Jason still as he ruts into him with hard, shallow thrusts. The pleasure builds in his belly, winding tighter and tighter, coiling up like a spring. His mouth stays on Jason's neck, trailing bruises across Jason's throat.
There's no stopping the sounds Jason makes. If most of his higher brain function hadn't abandoned him, he'd be concerned about a noise complaint.
As it is, he doesn't care. The only thing he cares about is Slade—Slade's cock, Slade's mouth, the weight of him above him, pressing him to the mattress.
He can tell when Slade starts to get close—the way his thrusts grow more erratic, the way his breath hitches. Jason doesn't have enough leverage to meet Slade's thrusts the way he wants, so instead he clenches around him him.
"C-come on," he pleads, breathlessly. "Come—come for me, come in me—make me yours, please—"
"You are mine," Slade growls, snapping his hips forward hard enough to knock Jason up the bed a couple of inches. He throws his head back, mouth open in a soundless moan. "All mine."
"F-fuck— Yes—yes, I'm yours, all yours—" Jason babbles.
Slade hitches one of Jason's legs up higher and fucks him harder. The bed rocks underneath them. Jason claws down Slade's back, leaving marks that quickly disappear.
Then—Slade slams into him with one, final thrust before stilling, his cock spasming as he comes. Jason moans. He clenches rhythmically around Slade's cock, doing his best to milk him of every drop.
Slade's head rests against his shoulder. He's not quite panting, but he's breathing harder than normal. Jason tangles his fingers in the hairs on Slade's nape, turning his face to press sloppy kisses against the side of his head.
He can feel Slade softening inside him, threatening to slip out of him.
It doesn't take long for Slade to catch his breath. He raises his head, turning just in time to catch Jason in another kiss. It's clumsy, messy; Jason's mouth refusing to cooperate the way he knows it can.
As they kiss, Slade's hand snakes between their bodies to wrap around Jason's cock. He jerks him with long, slow movements; twisting his wrist at he head. Jason's toes curl.
"Gonna be a good boy and come for me again?" Slade murmurs against his mouth.
Jason nods. "Yes—yes—please—"
Slade shifts, His softened cock slips from Jason's hole. Cum dribbles out behind it, smearing over Jason's thighs and soaking into the sheets. Jason doesn't have time to protest, though, because Slade quickly replaces it with two fingers, scooping up the spilt cum and pushing it back inside him.
He curls his fingers, finding Jason's swollen prostate, massaging it in time with the slide of his hand. Jason tosses his head, shuddering as he feels his peak drawing closer—closer—
Until finally, it washes over him like a tidal wave. Cum splatters over his chest. Slade doesn't stop touching him until Jason goes limp under him, dazed and breathless. He swipes his fingers through the spend on Jason's chest, and pushes them inside Jason's open mouth, spreading it over his tongue.
Jason moans, suckling at Slade's fingers automatically, clumsily licking his fingers clean.
"Good boy," Slade praises, voice rough.
Jason's eyes flutter, and he moans again, sucking a little harder on Slade's fingers.
Slade lets him keep suckling long after Jason has swallowed every drop of cum. Eventually, though, he takes them away, wiping them clean on the sheets. Then, he rolls off of Jason and sits up.
Jason makes a soft sound of protest—which has him turning, leaning down to kiss Jason's sweaty forehead. "Hush," he murmurs. "I'm just going to get a washcloth."
Jason huffs, but offers no other resistance. Be quick about it, he wants to demand—but he doesn't want to come off as needy.
Well.
Needier, anyway.
God, he's going to be so embarrassed tomorrow. What a fool he's made of himself…
Slade returns quickly enough anyway, clutching a damp washcloth in his hand. He looks to have wiped himself off already. He bats Jason's hand away when he reaches for the cloth, instead cleaning Jason himself. Jason bites his lip, unsure of what to do with his hands.
When Slade finishes, he tosses the cloth over his shoulder. Even without checking, Jason knows it's landed in the same vicinity as their clothes, so that all of it can be taken care of at once.
Then, finally, he lays down again. He pulls the blanket up from the foot of the bed, letting it settle around his waist before holding his arm out.
"Come here," he says.
Jason blinks at him. It's not unusual for Slade to hold him, after. But it's usually just an arm wrapped around his middle, not—close up cuddling, or spooning.
"I— You don't have to…"
He's already showered Jason with more affection than he could ever have dreamed possible.
"I want to." His tone doesn't leave much room for argument, and honestly—Jason shouldn't argue, but it's like he just can't help himself.
"Are you sure? It's… we don't need to—"
"I'm sure." He says the words almost harshly—but then Jason watches him swallow. When he speaks again, his tone is gentler. "If you don't want to, all you have to do is say so."
Maybe Jason should, but he doesn't. Instead he scoots over, letting himself be wrapped in Slade's arms as he tucks his face in his shoulder.
Slade cups the back of his head, carding his fingers through the curls there. "We always end up like this. Always kind of figured you were just embarrassed to start that way, or weren't keen on cuddling immediately after, but, in your sleep… never takes long." His voice lilts upward at the end, amused. Jason flushes. "But considering how my other assumption turned out, I thought it might be better to check."
The arm around his waist had been an invitation.
Yet another sign Jason had missed.
"Oh," he whispers.
Slade hums. "Oh," he agrees. He kisses the side of Jason's head. "We'll figure it out, Jay."
Jason isn't convinced. Slade makes it sound easy, simple. Jason knows better. But Slade, for all his faults, doesn't lie.
He's also just stubborn enough to stick around, no matter what Jason throws at him.
"Yeah," he finally says. "I think we will."