A challenge, then. Jason can only smirk cynically at that. “That” not so much being C.C.’s attitude, but Jason’s response to it. He used to agonize over having to prove himself, of considering it unjust that the Robin mantle was stolen from him in death. Everything was a test before he got killed, and everything was a test after. But now, he couldn’t be more happy to do this.
Prove himself.
Here’s Jason now, more willing to show someone else just what he’s got… and mostly because that someone else happens to be C.C. She doesn’t need to understand death to understand him. To find him so easy to read only to find - indeed - things worth clinging to.
Like the mutual loyalty that they share. How much more meaningful it is that Jason, who can die again, would take a bullet for her. And that C.C., who can never die, still has no plans of leaving his side. If life is so ephemeral, so transient, why stay? It’s all fleeting, right? So for those who wonder what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, look no further than this very tub where both meet. Meeting in such a way that, indeed, Jason shows a different kind of appetite than the one that pizza could sate.
Here he is hoping he’s not the only one this… hungry. Expressing that hope with every kiss planted on C.C.’s neck, seeing that hope returned when her fingers cascade his neck. It’s enough to make him blush, give truth to the name “Red Hood,” that he’s lucky C.C. can’t fully face him. Luckier that she’s this responsive to his advances, willing - if only for a moment - to live in the moment. But what Jason’s done so far doesn’t quite “seize the day.” Far from it.
Which is why, carefully, his hands find themselves on her breasts. Press against them with a sort of experimental hesitance, wary of any misstep. Then again, what’s there to screw up? Fondling someone shouldn’t be so complicated. Intimacy at all shouldn’t be, either. But when has Jason known that? When has he really?
Seems now’s the time to find out. To press on as his fingertips press against each of C.C.’s nipple, all before each finger stretches to avail an open hand, palms pressing against the whole of her breasts. What he’s really achieving here is a glorified massage, but when’s the last time C.C.’s been to a spa? It’s only the beginning, anyway, of certain gestures he has in mind. Touches as ravishing as the sweet nothings he’d find too corny to say, despite wanting to. All things he’s wanted to try out, then, but only ever thought of in the most secluded and repressed fantasies of a stolen adolescence.
How, now, can he rekindle a flame that was snuffed out too soon? ]
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A challenge, then. Jason can only smirk cynically at that. “That” not so much being C.C.’s attitude, but Jason’s response to it. He used to agonize over having to prove himself, of considering it unjust that the Robin mantle was stolen from him in death. Everything was a test before he got killed, and everything was a test after. But now, he couldn’t be more happy to do this.
Prove himself.
Here’s Jason now, more willing to show someone else just what he’s got… and mostly because that someone else happens to be C.C. She doesn’t need to understand death to understand him. To find him so easy to read only to find - indeed - things worth clinging to.
Like the mutual loyalty that they share. How much more meaningful it is that Jason, who can die again, would take a bullet for her. And that C.C., who can never die, still has no plans of leaving his side. If life is so ephemeral, so transient, why stay? It’s all fleeting, right? So for those who wonder what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, look no further than this very tub where both meet. Meeting in such a way that, indeed, Jason shows a different kind of appetite than the one that pizza could sate.
Here he is hoping he’s not the only one this… hungry. Expressing that hope with every kiss planted on C.C.’s neck, seeing that hope returned when her fingers cascade his neck. It’s enough to make him blush, give truth to the name “Red Hood,” that he’s lucky C.C. can’t fully face him. Luckier that she’s this responsive to his advances, willing - if only for a moment - to live in the moment. But what Jason’s done so far doesn’t quite “seize the day.” Far from it.
Which is why, carefully, his hands find themselves on her breasts. Press against them with a sort of experimental hesitance, wary of any misstep. Then again, what’s there to screw up? Fondling someone shouldn’t be so complicated. Intimacy at all shouldn’t be, either. But when has Jason known that? When has he really?
Seems now’s the time to find out. To press on as his fingertips press against each of C.C.’s nipple, all before each finger stretches to avail an open hand, palms pressing against the whole of her breasts. What he’s really achieving here is a glorified massage, but when’s the last time C.C.’s been to a spa? It’s only the beginning, anyway, of certain gestures he has in mind. Touches as ravishing as the sweet nothings he’d find too corny to say, despite wanting to. All things he’s wanted to try out, then, but only ever thought of in the most secluded and repressed fantasies of a stolen adolescence.
How, now, can he rekindle a flame that was snuffed out too soon? ]