bakerstreet | [ A SEXT FROM THE CLERGY ]

I know you miss me. I can practically hear that grumpy little sigh of yours from here.

You must be psychic. That obvious that I've got a lot pent up, huh?

You carry enough tension to power a spaceship. I'd say it's a given.

I'd even wager half of that tension is because you miss me so much.

Oh, you'd know exactly what tension motivates.

You seem to enjoy thinking I'm pining for you like some sad puppy when you're not around, don't you?

[ he's very noticably not denying it... ]

Does it turn you on that much to feel wanted?

And what if it does?

What if I told you it turns me on to feel wanted by you?

I'd tell you you're wrong to feel that way.

Because it goes beyond just wanting you. Needing you is the better word, and it hurts worse than death.

[ she sits with that second text and the deep sense of longing that follows it. a minute passes. ]

You're not the only one hurting here, Jason.

I don't like feeling like this. To need someone so much that it's painful?

I don't want to need you at all.

... but I do.

I want you.

I need you.

Then share your pain with me, Faye.

Let me feel it, too. Show me just how much you need me.

I can't promise to make the hurt go away... but maybe it'll hurt less.

... I'm afraid.

Afraid that if I show you, you'll leave me. Forget all about me.

I dont want you to go, Jason.

Well, tell me. Where the hell would I go?

I was drifting till we crossed paths. Didn't give a damn whether I lived or died.

But now I find myself suddenly caring. Second-guessing before I jump into the line of fire.

When a bullet grazes me, or a knife cuts me, I don't immediately think about the guy who does it.

I think about you. And what it'd mean to leave you behind if I screwed up.

To put it another way... I handled death once already.

I think I can handle you.

[ she can barely handle herself most days— ]

You don’t get it. I don’t get to have things that last. I don’t get to hold on to people.

Every time I do, they disappear. They die. They leave.

I don't want you to be another ghost in my past.

Maybe you don't get it, Faye.

I'm already a ghost.

And I'm still here.

Whether you like it or not, I'm haunting your sorry ass.

No matter what.

No matter what?

Or until it gets too hard?

Because I look like such a quitter, right?

Pushing me away won't solve your problem for you, Faye.

Of all people, I'd know.

I don't know how to be someone that somebody chooses to stay for.

But... I want to learn. I want to know how for you.

You're under my damn skin. You're on my mind all the time.

I couldn't push you away even if I wanted to.

And I don't.

I want you to stay.

You're still pleading to me like I have any plans of leaving.

But how do you know I'm not headed back to you right now, huh?

How do you know I'm not expecting you where you're waiting for me, so I can take you in my arms?

You piss me off sometimes, Faye. The way you make it so obvious that you want me.

Makes me wanna just smother you. Throw you down.

Kiss you.

All these years I've been running.

And you make me want to stop.

I don't know how to do this, Jason.

But I'll be right here. Waiting.

For your arms, for your lips, for you.

You don't have to know. We're all just making it up as we go.

The difference between us and others who seem to know where they're headed...

Is that we're not pretending to know.

You stay where you are. Don't even think about going to Denny's without me again.

When I find you, I'm gonna show you exactly what you mean to me.

I promise.

Must be why my life is such a mess, hm?

Better hurry up and find me, Romeo.

I won't wait forever.

[ it was supposed to be just another job. chase the bountyhead, rough him up a little, then dump him in the nearest police station. easy pickings, this one. the kind of thing so routine as to feel rote, second nature, another day in the life he and faye have chosen. but sometimes - and this time - one job like that just leads to another. and another. and another. and the more the woolongs pile up, the more jason can't say no to the next lead. the next chase. he's been like this since they've met, like this since they've partnered up, and it's not like faye's been any different, off galivanting in her own way.

but the ostensible cameraderie is only a ticking time bomb in disguise. with guns and the occasional knife pointed at each other, fights started over the most trivial and granular nitpicking, fights ended by the messiest and hungriest fucking-- faye and jason approach intimacy with the same turbulence that has shaped their waking lives. what they remember, what they don't. what has defined them, what has escaped them - the voids they can't fill, the lost time they can't reclaim, that they fill and reclaim in each other. but how much of it is a temporary solution to a permanent problem? how much of any attempt - consciously or otherwise - to fill the void... is just to fill time?

jason hardly gives himself the time to contemplate these things, speeding through space towards faye's coordinates. towards where he knows she'll be: his ship. a large enough vessel to house faye's redtail and jason's redbird in its hangar, yet too small still to house both of their personalities.

at least till the few occasions they learn to make space for themselves. like now, maybe, when jason boards that aforementioned hangar and makes his way into the ship's living room-- the very same room where faye awaits. ]

Juliet.

[ his first word echoes against the dark walls, featureless save for the many weapons he's hung up on some of them. voice mechanical while filtered through his helmet, he makes no effort to take it off... like it protects him. ]

Seems you have been waiting.

I don't know whether to be impressed or scared.

[ wherever faye may have been sitting or lying in wait, jason steps closer. tentatively. though they've gotten physical, have they ever been intimate? truly intimate?

the question doesn't scare him. it just gives him pause. makes him wonder what he wants. ]

But I know you shouldn't be moping like this. It's so unlike you, and I'm shocked you're not already firing away at--

[ he stops. and after a beat of contemplation, ]

...I'm here, Faye.

[ he removes his helmet, holding it in the crook of his arm, confronting her with his gaze - his voice - unfiltered. ]

I'm here.

[ faye always finds herself on his ship whether she means to or not. the one place she can rely on when it seems there’s nowhere else for her to go. frequent visits soon dissolving into lengthier stays over time, but it was never meant to be permanent. or so she told herself. in this surprisingly neat and tidy space, walls lined with an impressive array of weapons, other gadgets and computers in their respective spots, books upon books, and other collectibles—there’s not much of her to be found. a tube of red lipstick, her pack of cigarettes, a gum wrapper, maybe. little things she might leave around until she’s shoveling it all back into a sack and heading off. she keeps everything she owns in a battered gym bag straight out of the 1990’s, and sometimes she leaves it knowing she’ll return. because she always returns.

nights when she knows jason will be gone, she’ll sneak in and make herself comfortable. eat his food. read his books. crawl into his bed and breathe in his smell because she misses him. and before she knows it, she’s waking up in his arms, and he’s fast asleep. those quiet moments where she can feel her heart swell for something that feels almost unattainable. and yet it's right there, pressed against her, real and warm to the delicate touch she skates along the scars on his face.

she could get used to it. this way of life. with him. or so she tells herself. until the inevitable spread of panic sends her scurrying off with her tail between her legs.

if they weren’t fucking, they were fighting—a whir of passion, and hunger, intensity and pain. a metaphorical and literal gunfight in and out of the sheets. it was all or nothing. and it was so... consuming. more addictive than the nicotine high she tries to chase while waiting for him to show. she’s seated on the couch, reading through their texts, using it as a means to strengthen her will. I want you to stay, she told him. a feeling she’s carried with her for too long. a deep-rooted fear that now floats freely on the surface, as if waiting to be scooped up to safety. or shot down. amazing how few innocuous words can induce so much fear.

faye could bolt right now, and she's tempted. she even begins to stand until the sound of the hangar door opens and closes, and his footsteps confirm his presence before that modulated voice reaches her. a burning cigarette, pinched between two fingers, is snuffed out. she turns to face him but makes no effort to approach. in her best attempt, she tries to appear resolute, but it looks less like resilience and more like doubt shaping her face. was she doubting what she told him? ]

Jason, I...

[ soft enough that jason doesn't hear her and proceeds to carry on in that jocular way he does whenever he wasn't sure whether to be serious or not. but he knows; evident in the way he stops himself. removes his helmet. suddenly, it hurts to even look at him. ]

I'm sorry.

[ gut reaction. a blanket apology for all the ways she's embarrassing herself. searching for the words and instead finding herself struggling to hold it together. she tries and fails to meet his gaze. ]

I keep waiting for you to realize I’m not worth it. That I’m too much trouble, too much of a mess... but here you are. And it frightens the hell out of me—you frighten the hell out of me.

Frightened. Guess my scary red helmet's finally working.

[ it's only taken their entire relationship up to this point for it to finally be as intimidating as he wants it to be. that's the kind of deranged logic he'd follow if he lived on another planet, of course. because once he stops thinking about the bit, his attention turns to a faye so beside herself in premature grief. like she can't help but brace herself for pain she'd experienced before... that she'd hate to be drowned in again. he knows the feeling-- because god knows how many times he's lashed out at bruce, at alfred, at dick, stopping every attempt of theirs to reconcile and reconnect. to rebuild that bridge. the wounds were always too fresh, the scars all too unhealed - and grotesque - to be worthy of redemption. and yet it's here jason finds himself not in a pit of his own unworthiness, but in another's.

for all the times they've fought, seeking to resolve their differences either through fighting or fucking, jason sees a twisted reflection in faye. another lost soul so focused on what is indeed lost-- whether it's lost time, lost love, a lost life... till all that makes them up is the void they perceive from everything they lack. the weapons, the books, the tech - it's everything to pass the time, and also make more effective and efficient jason's pasttime of collecting bounties. it's everything jason's cobbled together and built despite himself, despite all that he's otherwise lost. but faye, with only a vintage gym bag and its haphazard contents to her name, is probably even more lost. where would she drift to if she wasn't here? should she gamble on being welcomed to the bebop again? where the hell would she start just to find jet, if jet would even respond to her calls?

jason knows enough about faye at this point, and enough about himself, to understand that she means it when she says she needs him. despite whatever this is between them, and how quickly it can all go up in flames as soon as the wrong thing is said, the one tiny thing is stolen, the last piece of food is eaten... this life in this ship is theirs. and for as much of this ship's arrangements still undoubtedly belong to jason, he and faye have built this life together.

so when faye fails to look at him when she speaks, and continues failing, he drops the helmet. lets it bounce off the floor and roll over to god knows where - jason doesn't care. but before faye can stumble, lose her balance, lose herself, jason's already there. he catches her before she can fall, if she were to fall, by wrapping her waist in the crook of his arm. pulling her in, in fact, as his free hand gently tips her chin up - priming her lips for his, which finally connect.

connect in a deep and hungry kiss, lips pressing against hers with barely-restrained abandon. the kind of hunger for something essential, something so desparately and woefully needed, that can't be sated by a single taste. he doesn't relent for several moments, letting his actions speak for him. his wordless declaration of desire, of assurance, intended to reach faye so utterly, so directly. after long enough, his eyes open to regard faye's gaze as the kiss continues, till finally - decidely - he breaks from it, a trail of saliva still connecting their lips. ]

Faye... I reject your apology.

Because you don't have a single damn thing to apologize for that I'm not also guilty of.

What kind of hypocrite would I be if I decided you were too much trouble?

[ now, his hand drifts down into an open palm on her shoulder. like he's about to shake some sense into her, do something, only to... not. ]

Do you really want me to say it, Faye?

Do you really want me prove to you what you can't seem to get through your thick skull?

[ his words lose their steadiness. the bravado of all his quipping is foreign, now, to his own voice. in his own way, he's pleading. desperate to keep faye in place, from running away... to keep her here. ]

I love you.

You piss me off, you drive me nuts, you make me wanna shoot something...

[ and his breath hitches before finishing the thought. ]

...but I love you. Take it or leave it.

[ — frightened. the incessant thoughts of him. the flutter in her chest at the sight of him. how much she wants to kill him but never more than she wants to kiss him. the constant craving when he isn't around. eyes searching in spaces she knows she won't find him but where hope still lives. learning just how much she starves for his touch in its absence. and the way it twists her stomach up in knots that something could happen. that all of this could disappear. the idea that she might love him. it scares her more than any silly little red helmet could. more than the small jolt in her body when it hits the floor and rolls away might imply.

without the helmet, she's more frightened by the way he looks at her. all-encompassing. like he might also love her.

her heart thrums wildly in her chest; a thunderous echo in her ears that makes the rest of her feel like she's vibrating. possibly even swaying. synapses fire off, urging her to move, but she's cemented in place. the world around them slows down, blurs. the tips of her fingers tingle with anticipation. their bodies meet; his fingers clipping her chin; her fingers finding purchase in the muscles of his arms. green eyes, wide and threatening to well up with tears, frantically scan his face.

please kiss me becomes a thought during that short moment, right before their lips collide, and she's drawing in one last breath.

the tension heightens, then visibly deflates from her body. her arms quickly wrap around jason's neck to pull herself as close as possible, chasing after his mouth with an equal amount of hunger and feverish desperation, gorging on the abundance of his desire that reaches her so utterly, so directly, just as intended, that a soft whimper slips out. that when he first breaks away, she'll pursue for one more taste of his lips before letting him go.

what truly renders her breathless isn't the kiss, but what he professes. speechless and lumbered by the weight of it all. faye can't remember the last time she's ever heard those words. an experience that likely exists in some memory she's failed to regain. it doesn't really matter—this feels like the first time. it's overwhelming. her armor is cracking. ]

I take it.

[ it tumbles out of her mouth so readily. like she had been waiting for it.

her hands tremble as they come forward to cup his face. ]

Because I—

I love you.

[ hearing himself speak, jason feels like a fool to be uttering these words. when was the last time he's allowed himself to be so candid, to speak so vulnerably from the heart without blunting the execution in some way, whether through irony, passive-aggression, or outright active aggression? because while jason has certainly been blunt, he's never always been honest. never shared enough of his real self to let that be hurt when his persona - the red hood - can take all the heat it needs to. the real jason, beneath enigmatic layers of bravado that give him his very reputation, is still the same hurt child that lost his life at the mercy of a madman. he's still that child waiting to be saved, yearning to be saved, even though salvation never truly comes.

but is that still right?

what if salvation actually came, and it arrived in the package of a reckless and chaotic spitfire named faye valentine? what if the very thing jason longed for wasn't justice, wasn't revenge, wasn't salvation... but understanding? how lost could a lost soul truly be if he wasn't lost alone? because now, looking at faye's pained expression, her pleading eyes twinkling with the beginnings of tears, her body trembling in tense frustration and anxiety over his every word... jason doesn't see the past. he doesn't see his life frozen in time, arrested by a singular defining tragedy that's shaped him, scarred him, limited him. no. in faye's eyes - fraught as they are with anguish, with yearning with uncertainty - jason sees something else.

he sees the future.

and the future cups his face after another desperate kiss, another attempt to anchor themselves in the present moment, freed of the what-ifs and could-have-beens that have flung them adrift - days spent, days wasted, chasing bounties in an endless cycle. ]

What a weird coincidence.

Is this why we're stuck together, Faye? Love?

No wonder you keep coming back. No wonder you keep calling me back.

[ he interrupts himself to close the distance between their lips once more, desperate to reassure her of his feelings, to solidify them in another gesture, as lips press hungrily against hers. his mouth searches desperately for something grounding - something to restore his equilibrium - as he folds faye in an even tighter embrace, like letting go of her would kill him. like separation of any kind, at least right now, is tantamount to cutting off oxygen. ]

I'm not letting you go, then.

Not this time. Not ever.

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bountyhead - 2025-04-11 05:03 (UTC) - Expand

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degenesis - 2025-04-12 17:26 (UTC) - Expand

[ A SEXT FROM THE CLERGY ]

jason todd ( dc )

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