Jason had done it.

He managed to rope each of his brothers into the school play. Not as good parts, necessarily — Dick was a side character, Tim in ensemble, and Damian managed to secure one of the stage manager spots — but he did it.

Best of all, though — he was casted as one of the romantic leads. It was practically what he'd been waiting for his whole life. Not really, but kind of really.

Worst of all, it meant his brothers could make fun of him for each and every on-stage kiss he had — which was, like, at six per show at least.

It also meant he had to 'make out' with you six times per show, which was hellish, because he knew exactly the kind of person you were, and you weren't someone he wanted to get to know at all. Romantically, or otherwise. He hated stage-kissing you, touching you, being in your premises, and he especially hated when you had to grab his face and pull him in when he dipped you for the final kiss before curtains.

To sum it up nicely, he wanted to throw you into a wall. The only thing that made it marginally better was the whispered insults between the two of you during each stage kiss instead of snogging each others' lipstick off like two hormonal freshman.

Bless the drama teacher for that.

Point was, Jason never ever in a million years thought he'd make out with you of all people — the embodiment of everything he hated.

But on closing night, when his hands were on your waist, dipping you in front of everyone, your palms grabbed his face and you made out with him like he was your lifeline.

His face damn near turned red, and he could feel Dick's proud grin and Tim's confused stare and Damian's disapproving scowl as he rushed off stage as fast he could, sloppily tossing his costume on the rack and rushing into the parking lot after you.

"What the fuck was that?" he called out, his mouth dry. He closed the gap too fast, turned you around and tried desperately not to betray that he enjoyed your tongue down his throat. "You serious? That— that didn't just happen?"