Jason gripped the headboard until his knuckles turned white, his breath hitching in a way that felt entirely too vulnerable for a man who had stared down death. He’d agreed to this—to let go of the control he usually guarded like a loaded weapon—but now that he was actually here, face-down in the pillows, his stubbornness was fighting his biology.

The safe word was 'GUN'. That's what they agreed on.

"It’s not... you’re not using enough," Jason gritted out, his voice a strained rasp. He buried his face deeper into the fabric, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. "There’s no way you used enough. It feels like... dammit, just stop for a second."

He knew it was a lie. He could feel the slickness, could hear the soft, wet sounds of his partner’s careful movements, but his brain needed a scapegoat for the way his walls were crumbling. If he blamed the prep, he didn't have to admit he was wound tighter than a tripwire.

"Relax, Jay," they whispered, a hand grounding him against the mattress.

"I am relaxing!" he snapped, though his shoulders were hiked up to his ears.

Then, they found the right angle.

The complaint died in his throat, replaced by a sound that made his stomach flip in shame—a high, broken whimper that sounded nothing like the Red Hood. It was soft, needy, and utterly pathetic by his own internal standards.

"Shut up," he hissed, though whether he was talking to his partner or his own vocal cords was unclear.

He hated how his toes curled. He hated how the tension he’d been blaming on "lack of lube" was melting into a heavy, pulsing heat. Every time he tried to pull together a coherent thought to tell them to slow down, another involuntary, shaky moan escaped him. He was a mess of contradictions: swearing under his breath about how much he hated this, while his body leaned back into the touch, desperately chasing the very sensation he was supposed to be "tolerating."

"Stupid," he muttered into the pillow, his voice wet and breathless. "This is... so stupid."

But as his partner moved again, drawing another helpless, embarrassing sound out of him, Jason stopped fighting the bedsheets and finally let his eyes drift shut, even if he’d never admit out loud just how good it felt to finally break.