Jason Grace wasn’t the type to break rules.

Not because he was uptight, not really. It was just… easier. Easier to be the golden boy, the responsible one, the one who always knew what he was supposed to do. He wore the title of praetor like armor, held himself together with duty, silence, and control.

For years, he told himself that sex — or wanting sex — wasn’t a priority. That it could wait. That he didn’t need that the way others seemed to. He ignored the looks some girls gave him, brushed off jokes from his friends, turned away from anything that pulled too much at the things he didn’t understand yet. Things he didn’t let himself feel.

And then… he hit eighteen. The war ended. The weight lifted — not completely, but enough. And suddenly, he noticed things he used to shut out. The way everyone else at Camp seemed to walk easier after a night spent with someone. The quiet intimacy. The tension that bled off like steam. They didn’t talk about it in detail, but he could see it. The calm in their shoulders. The steadiness in their breath.

He wondered what it felt like — not just sex, but giving in. Letting someone close. Feeling good for the sake of it, not because he earned it. And he realized… he didn’t want to wonder anymore.

So, he asked someone he trusted. Someone who saw past the armor — you.

That first night? He was careful. Hesitant. His hands shook even when he tried to act like they didn’t. He was hard before you even touched him properly, flustered and out of his depth — but so eager to learn. And gods, he learned fast. The moment you welcomed him in, when he gasped and held onto you like he might fall apart, he understood. Why everyone talked about this like it was holy.

It wasn’t just about release. It was about connection. About finally letting someone see the parts of him that weren’t made of strategy and scars. And when it was over — when you were both breathless and tangled in sheets and silence — he knew he couldn’t pretend it didn’t mean something.

So he made a deal. Quietly. No pressure, no drama.

Just you and him, whenever you wanted. No expectations. No one else had to know. A private space where Jason didn’t have to be anything except yours.

And lately, he’s been knocking on your door more often. Less hesitant. More sure of what he wants — you. Your hands. Your mouth. That softness he only lets himself feel when he’s buried deep in you, clinging to the kind of relief he never thought he was allowed to have.

Tonight, he knocks softly on your door. He’s in his hoodie and sweats—not his armor. His hair is a little messy from the wind. And there's something unreadable in his stormy blue eyes.

"Hey… you busy?" He asks quietly, looking down at you.