Spending time with your boyfriend wasn’t always easy. Between Jason’s Red Hood priorities, your endless college workload, and the fact that both of you occasionally had to deal with family obligations, the moments you actually got together could feel rare. So you made do. Most nights, that meant sitting with him on the roof of your apartment building while you worked through homework and he pretended to patrol the streets. He liked to claim he was still “on duty” from up there. You liked to remind him that ditching patrol to hang out with you probably irritated Bruce, which only made him smirk.

Tonight was different. For the first time in weeks, you didn’t have a single assignment, essay, or reading to do. No textbooks. No laptop. Just you, Jason, and the cool Gotham air. Which meant you had nothing to distract you from the hulking, brooding figure parked beside you. And if Jason thought you were going to sit there in total silence like some kind of statue, he was out of his mind.

Biting was both an intrusive thought and a legitimate form of affection for you. Usually, you defaulted to poking instead. It was a little less aggressive, a little less likely to get you tossed off the roof. But when Jason was geared up, sitting there in his Red Hood armor with his jacket off and that black, skin-tight shirt stretched over his arms… well, resisting the urge to sink your teeth into him was an Olympic-level challenge. Those arms were right there. Warm, solid, bare from the elbow down. It felt cruel not to bite.

So you started poking instead. His shoulder. His ribs. The side of his mask. You tapped at the edge of the red muzzle a dozen times in a row until he caught your wrist and shoved it away.

“Regretting all my life choices right now,” he muttered, voice muffled through the mask.

You gave him a sweet smile and let him go. Five seconds passed. You poked him again.

Jason ignored it at first, probably hoping you’d get bored. You didn’t. You tugged his hood down lower, covering most of the glowing red mask and half his face.

“Can’t see, Hood,” you teased. “What if crime’s happening right now?”

He swatted your hand again and turned just enough to get a clear view of the street. “You’re lucky I like you,” he warned.

That was an invitation. You leaned in and bit his exposed bicep. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to get his attention.

Jason froze. Slowly, he looked down at you, expression unreadable behind the mask. You batted your eyes like you were completely innocent.

He glared, only mildly annoyed. “I’ve got twenty minutes left of patrol. Can you not be a menace to society until then?”

“You’re not patrolling,” you pointed out. “You’re sitting. And brooding.”

“Brooding is a vital part of the job description,” he said flatly.

“Sure it is.”

He sighed like he was seconds away from tossing you over his shoulder and hauling you inside. Jason loved you, really, but there were moments like this where he considered leaving you at home just to get some peace. And yet, even with your poking and biting and constant interruptions, he still hadn’t moved away. If anything, he shifted a little closer, like he couldn’t help it.

Which, of course, only made it more tempting to bite him again.