Tossing and turning in bed isn't ideally how I want to fall asleep. I keep getting up and going to the kitchen, grabbing a water or beer before walking straight back in my room to stop myself from enacting any illicit ideas.

Jason's bedroom light is on, meaning he's awake and in there. I can hear him moving around.

On my third adventure into the kitchen to try and distract myself from the random, oddly perfect kiss, he walks out too.

No one knows true pain of awkward until this happens to them.

As I pour refrigerated water into my glass, he's at the counter behind me slipping bread into the toaster. Neither of us speak. I turn around and lean against the sink.

Why did I stop him again?

I'm on my way back to my room when he speaks.

"Third question; why'd you stop me?"

I freeze. I have to be honest, don't I? I nearly answer 'because I'm an idiot', which is also true.

"I don't do criminals," I answer, "well, anymore."

"I'm not a criminal," he frowns.

I turn around and sigh at him, "Maybe not, but you're alike to one."

"And you're not?"

My shoulders draw back, "Not anymore."

I don't even know what I want. I want to kiss him and I want to keep some distance between us. Two completely opposites.

I wait for him to say something.

"Don't you think calling me a criminal makes you a hypocrite?"

The insult burns, "Hypocrite? I'm not-"

"A criminal is someone who commits an act or omission that violates the law without reason. An anti-hero is someone who commits an act or omission that violates the law, in the name of the law and to keep justice. I am an anti-hero. You were a criminal."

I place my cup down and stalk back towards him, "You might have read that file but, you have no idea what drove me to be Duchess, or do the things she did."

"You don't even consider being Duchess a part of you. You call her 'she'. It proves that you're ashamed."

"Are you trying to read me?" I interrupt, letting out a vindictive laugh. "What's your aim? Trying to gain some equal ground here because I can find out everything about you with a glance, while you had to pay my associates for a just scrap of information about me?"

He leans against the counter and stares at it, staying silent.

I fold my arms and take another step, "New tone in your voice and surprising take on criminality, mine in particular, suggests you are taking your own upset towards yourself out on me."

His head snaps up. Victory.

"Reaction proves me right."

"Will you stop?"

I stare at him for a while, waiting for him to do something else I can assess. All he does is continue making a coffee.

"What's with your aversion to me?" I ask, unable to stop the pathetic question before it comes out. At least I didn't ask it in the baby way...why do you hate me, Jason?

He looks at me, suspicious, and mumbles something.

"What?"

"Is that your third question?"

I sigh, "No. Stupid question. I know why you hate me."

Whoops.

"I don't hate you," he says quickly. I roll my eyes.

"I think we both know that's crap. We can't even spend a single minute talking without starting a fight. Maybe it's because we're too alike, but we're never going to get along. We literally argued when we first met on the GCPD rooftop."

I turn around and continue to my room.

"Seriously?" He announces suddenly. I stop and wince, ready for him to start yet another fight.

"What?" I sigh, all comebacks exhausted.

"Two things," he begins, sounding both angry and challenging. Not one to give up, I force myself to return and sit on the stool on the other side of the counter from him. He turns to the fridge and pulls out two beers, opening both of them and handing me one.

"First of all; We're not that alike, okay? Obviously something terrible happened to you. You made something of yourself; Gotham's most feared yet loved District Attorney. Second, technically we met while you were fighting Croc."

He's leaning over the counter, staring at me with the tiniest hints of rage and care in his eyes. I look down my my fingers.

"Duchess was meant to be someone better than the criminals, but worse than the cops. I hunted rapists, pedophiles and murderers. Any sexual preds or rapists, I castrated and sent to the cops. Any murderers I mutilated and sent to the cops. Any serial killers, I tortured and killed myself. But the press portrayed me as the villain. The city I wanted to protect learned to fear and hate me. So I turned my back on being the vigilante and decided to be the angel instead."

"Becoming the District Attorney to the most corrupt city on the planet was your solution to being an angel?" He asks.

"Not at first. That's when I met Jim. He told me that my...ability to read people would make me the perfect DA. He doesn't realise it's actually a power."

Jason nods along.

"Why'd you just watch me fight Waylon?"

He smirks, "From where I was standing it didn't look like you needed help."

"I didn't," I admit, then laugh, "Hell, I rarely do."

To my surprise, that earns me a cheeky grin.

"I believe you."

Those green eyes are staring at me with the same emotions again. If I were to deduct what I see, I suppose concern, confusion, amusement and once again lust would work.

Before I can speak, he darts forward over the counter and kisses me. Once, quick, gentle.

He pulls away only centimeters, leaving our faces close.

"Why did you do that?" I whisper, amused and intrigued.

He looks into my eyes silent for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle.

"You said it yourself. We're alike."

"You're agreeing with me? That can't be good," I shoot back.

He tries not to smile, "Disastrous, really."

The moment is sadly broken by the toaster popping up, the yummy smell filling the room.

I take the opportunity to return to my room as he silently begins buttering his toast.

Climbing back into bed feels wrong. I know why, but I try to shove those feelings down in favour of getting some damn sleep.

The eyes keep crossing my mind. There is years of pain and neglect there, paired with softness and cheek. But it was all overcome by lust in those last few moments.

I think of my late fiancé for some reason. He wasn't the last person I slept with, but he was the last one who meant anything. He and Jason had similar personalities- cheeky and boyish and cocky, rough edges jagged with emotional damage, rage and trauma.

They probably would have got a long well. Both are/were anti-heroes, afterall. Serious when it comes to fighting crime, light-hearted when it comes to their silly jokes, even at their own expense, and very dedicated when it comes to...

Fuck it.

When was the last time I fucked someone who wasn't doing something illegal, anyway?

I throw my blanket off and stand up. I stomp towards the door and go to turn the handle. The door opens however, giving my hand a firm whack.

"Ow," I snap, stepping back. Jason pushes the door open fully. He stands there, I stand there.

"Were...you about to open the door?" He asks.

"Yes," I answer, rubbing my hand.

Jason smirks, "Why?"

I was on my way to find you and fu-

"I left my water out there," I explain, spotting my glass on the counter.

His face shift slightly, losing the mirth.

"I see."

I duck passed him and walk back to the kitchen. I can feel his eyes on me, hear him moving around behind me. Once I have the water jug out of the fridge, I turn to get my glass, only to find it has disappeared from where it was.

My eyes dart around for it as Jason swoops passed me, to his room.

"Where did-"

I cut myself off, because I look up to see Jason leaning on his bedroom door frame, smirk returned, my glass in his big hand.

Yes. Fuck yes.

Barely able to keep myself from shaking with the anticipation, I stride towards him.

"Give me my cup," I challenge playfully with a the same smirk he's giving me. He takes a step back into his bedroom.

I allow him to lead and follow. He stands with the back of his legs up against the bed.

It's official; my mind is fully gone in alcohol, angst and lust. Biting my lip, keeping hooded eyes on him that seem to only entice him more, I reach behind me and knock the door closed. It swings shut.

Slowly, I walk towards Jason, whose amused gaze never leaves mine. I take the cup from is hand. For a mere second I turn away to place it on the desk.

When I face him again, there is nothing stopping me.

I reach up and pull his head down, kissing him. He slides his hands up under my shirt, feeling my waist, pulling me to him so tightly it's painful.

His hands move down to my knees as I bite his lip. He allows me entrance whilst hoisting me up, my knees against his hips. When he falls back onto the bed, I immediately begin working to remove his shirt. He helps me. When it's gone I get to do what I've wanted to since I met him; feel those abs.

Jason lets out a breathless laugh at the sensation of my nails scraping along his muscles. My hands move up to his shoulders, rubbing my palms over the absolute bulk there. It feels amazing, the raw strength under my fingers.

"I fucking love your body," I tell him, and he seems to both like the comment and get embarrassed by it. Cute.

He starts to pull my shirt up and I help, tossing it where his went before leaning down to kiss him. It slows us down slightly. I moan against his lips as his fingertips trail down my spine, bringing goosebumps to the surface of my skin.

Thick fingers (that could make me drool) find their way under my leggings, grazing over the lace underneath, which earns me a groan as he grips my ass tightly. I grin, our faces only an inch a part.

"I fucking love yours," he admits quietly.

"Good."

I sit up and shuffle back, getting to work on the front of his pants, ignoring the growing bulge where I know he's expecting to be touched. Once I've got the zipper and button undone I decide to tease, rubbing and pressing my hands along those thick, meaty thighs, at the bottom of his stomach where he must be ticklish, judging by the sweet little gasp he does.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me close.

It feels amazing.

"Stop teasing," he warns, smiling against my mouth as we kiss again.

"Make me," I whisper, grinding down a little. I feel my bra get torn off before he flips us. I find myself staring up at pretty green eyes, more lost in them than ever.

As he ducks down to begin playing with my breasts, I can't help but think again; Jason Todd and I are very alike.

That can be a very good and bad thing.

Right now, it's pretty good.