Jonn: Did I Do That To You? (NSFW)

**Sexual content discussed, including dysfunctional/uncomfortable attitudes about sex (I mean, it's Jonn, so). Nothing graphic onscreen but some explicit dialogue.**

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Jonn zoned out and forgot to react.

He thought it only took a moment for Finch to notice, but he wasn't really sure -- blinked and came back to his body when Finch drew back to stare at him.

“Hey. Jonn. Hey.”

“What?” Jonn gave him a blank look, because he was confused, but it seemed like it made Finch uncomfortable.

He pulled back more, squinting, and Jonn went to grab his arms and keep him from going any further, but he tugged away roughly.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. He was acting like Jonn had hurt him or something, tumbling out of the bed and backing away.

Jonn sat up, pulling the covers around himself, still not warm. He made a quizzical, sleepy noise.

Finch's back hit the wall. His eyes widened slowly. “Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck. Fuck. What am *I* doing?” He covered his mouth and slid down the wall, still staring.

This was boring. Jonn rubbed at his eyes. “If this is the thing about not sleeping with men again --.”

“Jonn. Why did you let me do that? Why did -- you didn't --.” He shifted to cover his entire face. He was really fucking stressed out about this, and Jonn had no idea what it was. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and didn't say anything.

After a second, Finch raised his head. He kept staring at Jonn for a moment, hands over his mouth, then finally relaxed a little -- all the tension still in his voice. “The first time -- you -- you wouldn't stop hitting on me, and you kissed me, so -- you fuckin' wanted that, right?”

“What?”

“The fuckin’ first time we --.” He cut himself off with an exasperated sound and massaged his temples. “Mask, I never should have let -- I never should've started sleeping with you.”

“Oh.”

He remembered he'd been sore, that first time, from fucking the goliath earlier in the day. Then he'd woken up to his partner holding a knife over him. He'd been messed up, somehow, and he'd wanted to distract himself from it until it passed. Finch had been strangely careful with him, and awkwardly asked if he was hurting him, and Jonn had said *no* so that he wouldn't stop.

“Yeah, that,” Jonn said dismissively. “I wanted that. Why're you asking?”

“Fuck.” Finch closed his eyes. He sighed through his teeth, managing to look relieved and more fucking stressed out at once. “What about -- oh, fuck, fuck me -- after the fucking thing with the plague -- was that --?”

Jonn blinked at him.

“When I fucked you on the couch!” Finch cried, throwing his arm out towards it. Jonn looked that way automatically, then back to him.

“Oh. Was that what?”

“Did you fucking want me to? *Fuck*, Jonn. Oh my fucking *god*.” He buried his face in his hands again.

Jonn gave him a puzzled look. That'd been the night Finch had dragged him out of the bunker and they'd seen Gwydion. He'd been shaky from not eating, but excited, delighted about the way Gwydion had come closer to him and Finch had pulled him away, like they were fighting over him. Like they both wanted him, at all, for anything. Finch'd had to all but carry him home, but he hadn't been able to stay still -- picking at Finch's clothes, nibbling his neck, whining -- and when they'd gotten into the bunker Finch had shoved him against the door and kissed him, hard, until he settled down a little.

Then he'd pushed a bottle of vodka into Jonn's hands and gone to retch, himself, complaining that Jonn still tasted of vomit. He'd come back, though.

Jonn remembered laughing, high-pitched, and asking Finch if he was going to fuck him right there against the door. Finch had said *yeah*, but then he'd drawn back and said *wait, do you not want me to*? And Jonn had been told he gave people mixed signals, before. He didn't really understand the signals. He didn't know what he was doing that was confusing. So he said *at least take me to the couch first* to see what that would signal, and Finch had done that, and worn him out, and then made him eat a little more, and he'd felt better.

He didn't know what the fucking problem was.

“Yeah,” he said. “I wanted it. I said I did.”

“But you just fucking said the same thing!” Finch snapped, waving towards the bed this time. “I mean -- you said no, but -- then you said you changed your mind -- but you didn't fucking change your mind, you just got all --.”

He growled, teeth clenched, and pushed up to pace over to the couch and sit down heavily. Jonn watched him slump over and put his face in his hands again, and he pulled the blankets loose from the foot of the bed to wrap them around himself more. He'd just wanted Finch to roll back over and hold him -- like he did in his sleep, when Jonn was just a warm body and he didn't remember that he didn't like him. The bunker was cool. Gwydion would've held him, but Gwydion wasn't there.

“Every other time,” Finch said quietly, “I think -- you -- you always start it. You're always fuckin’ bothering me. And you drag me to bed, or -- or you fucking sit in my lap.” His voice dropped to more of a whisper. “I thought -- you were the one making me do shit. I didn't think -- I didn't know you'd just -- cut off like that.” He looked back over at Jonn. “Have you done that before and I didn't … notice? Did I do that to you?”

Jonn stared at him for another moment. Cut off like what? Did he mean --? “I'm just really tired,” he said flatly.

“Then we -- then why did you -- I fucking let it *go*, Jonn.” He was still really upset. “I didn't wanna -- I mean, if you didn't --.”

“You turned away,” Jonn blurted. “I wanted you to come back.”

“I wasn't trying to fucking guilt you, or some shit,” he said, gesturing in frustration, “I just wasn't going to keep -- keep fuckin’ *cuddling* you with my hard dick against your ass after you'd said *no*. I was trying to be fucking -- considerate.”

He sighed loudly and flopped back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, visibly gritting his teeth.

Jonn watched him blearily for a second. It would've been easier if Finch had just screwed him and gotten it over with, and then they could've gone back to sleep. He guessed he should've turned his back, so Finch couldn't see his face. Or made himself focus and react a little more. It wasn't his fault Finch'd woken him up grinding against him in his sleep. He guessed it wasn't Finch's fault, either, though, what he did in dreams.

He gathered the blankets around his shoulders and slipped off the bed, and padded over to the couch to sit next to Finch. His partner flinched at it a bit, but he didn't get up to roam around the bunker any more.

“I didn't think you were trying to guilt me,” Jonn said. Seemed really complicated. Finch wasn't that manipulative, at least with Jonn -- just told him what he wanted and what to do, bluntly. Jonn liked that about him. “I was just cold. I wanted you to come back.” He shrugged. “I just figured that'd work.”

Finch shuddered, or shivered maybe, and crossed his arms. “All right, that. Have you done that with me before?”

“Um.” He thought for a beat. He'd used sex to get what he wanted out of a lot of people. Finch'd been really reluctant, though. It wasn’t really a bartering chip that worked on him. “No. Usually I just tell you what I want. I'm just … tired? I didn't feel like … talking you into it. You usually tell me to fuck off when I ask you to hug me.”

“Well. I'd.” Finch shifted. He looked away. “I'd *been* holding you,” he muttered. “I don't always tell you to fuck off.”

Jonn shrugged. He hadn't said always. He'd said usually. But Finch knew what he'd said, so he didn't repeat himself -- he scooted closer instead, and tried to wrap the blankets around Finch too, only able to just reach his far shoulder. Finch relented and took the corner himself, moving to tug it on around until they were both huddled together.

That was better. Jonn pressed against him, ducking his head under the blankets, cheek against Finch's chest. He took a deep breath. Much better.

He'd -- liked it when Finch had pulled back that night, and asked *do you not want me to?* There'd been the beginning of something nervous in his chest, before. He didn't know why. Mixed signals -- he'd wanted Finch to fuck him right up until he'd been pressed up against the door and felt like he couldn't get away, couldn't move, wasn't in control. He didn't think Finch would hurt him; he didn't think he cared if Finch did.

But there was this thing he did, sometimes. Mostly with Hansel. Where he forgot to react to things, but he still did, like he just knew what to do without calculating how to get what he wanted, first. Where he just kind of existed, but without staring off into space -- he just existed where he actually was, and -- he liked it. He'd gotten that way with Flynn, a few times, and sometimes he did with Finch.

He didn't think Finch would hurt him on purpose, but he knew that Hansel wouldn't, and when Finch had stopped doing what he wanted, and asked what Jonn wanted, for a second there he'd known that Finch wouldn't hurt him, either.

Finch didn't like him, though. He was just acting fucking weird. He was always threatening to zap Jonn, and he'd pulled a knife on him. Finch was still scared of him -- had been since they'd met and Jonn had stared at his safe-cracking hands from under Helena’s arm.

“Hey.” His voice was muffled. “Hey. Y'know. Fuck Morgan Wyn. If she told me to kill you, I wouldn't.”

He felt Finch's sigh. “Fucking great. Comforting. Thanks. The hell is wrong with you?”

Jonn shrugged, because he genuinely didn't know.