[ To be sure, the heat of the tub beats the terrible power of the Lazarus Pit— it being filled with a substance so volatile that while it raises the dead, it risks insanity for the living. Insanity, even, for the resurrected. Maybe this whole enterprise is a product of Jason’s slippage from reality, the expectation that the Red Hood can actually get off the ground and make a difference. In a playground like Gotham, however, madness reigns. This city is probably the best place to make Jason’s dreams a reality— by making evildoers answer for his nightmares… and by bringing their own to life.
Conversely, the moment at hand feels like a dream. Like something Jason never felt he wanted, but now something he desperately needs. Like if he doesn’t claim it for himself, someone else will take it. Like this isn’t even supposed to be his in the first place. Like he’s stolen this. Thus, despite his carefulness around C.C., there’s an urgency compelling his actions, the stiffness with which he goes about holding her from behind, rigid arms cradling and fondling her body. As good as he is with his hands, he owes this more to good instincts - or beginner’s luck - than genuine experience. Such prowess, he suspects, is something he can more accurately credit to C.C., what with her eons of experience on him.
The thought even makes him laugh, though she’ll think he’s responding to her remark: that she’s “impressed.” But that, too, he finds funny. He does pride himself on his versatility. His ability to make the most out of a bad situation, and his ability to make a good one even better. ]
Better not be the last time I impress you.
[ He speaks with a grin she might not see. What with her being far too busy opening her neck for more of his kisses, the suckings of his lips against her skin. It’s all to compliment his ministrations below, venturesome hands squeezing her breasts, fingers pressing on her nipples. Every movement is in service of pleasuring her, awakening feelings woefully neglected or forgotten. Stuff Jason manages to, like himself, resurrect. And his pursuit continues as a single hand of his lowers, its fingers finding C.C.’s slit. Probably can’t lead her to finish with all these sensations underwater, but Jason suspects this to be the point of foreplay sometimes.
Which is to say, finishing can wait. For now, the moment is paramount.
Hence the concentrated touches of Jason’s fingertips, the deliberation with which he canvasses her folds, stopping only to spoil her clit with similar touches. It’s with this that he continues his work above, refraining from kissing only when it be comes necessary to speak. ]
Stupid, eh?
Now when the hell has that ever stopped me before?
no subject
Conversely, the moment at hand feels like a dream. Like something Jason never felt he wanted, but now something he desperately needs. Like if he doesn’t claim it for himself, someone else will take it. Like this isn’t even supposed to be his in the first place. Like he’s stolen this. Thus, despite his carefulness around C.C., there’s an urgency compelling his actions, the stiffness with which he goes about holding her from behind, rigid arms cradling and fondling her body. As good as he is with his hands, he owes this more to good instincts - or beginner’s luck - than genuine experience. Such prowess, he suspects, is something he can more accurately credit to C.C., what with her eons of experience on him.
The thought even makes him laugh, though she’ll think he’s responding to her remark: that she’s “impressed.” But that, too, he finds funny. He does pride himself on his versatility. His ability to make the most out of a bad situation, and his ability to make a good one even better. ]
Better not be the last time I impress you.
[ He speaks with a grin she might not see. What with her being far too busy opening her neck for more of his kisses, the suckings of his lips against her skin. It’s all to compliment his ministrations below, venturesome hands squeezing her breasts, fingers pressing on her nipples. Every movement is in service of pleasuring her, awakening feelings woefully neglected or forgotten. Stuff Jason manages to, like himself, resurrect. And his pursuit continues as a single hand of his lowers, its fingers finding C.C.’s slit. Probably can’t lead her to finish with all these sensations underwater, but Jason suspects this to be the point of foreplay sometimes.
Which is to say, finishing can wait. For now, the moment is paramount.
Hence the concentrated touches of Jason’s fingertips, the deliberation with which he canvasses her folds, stopping only to spoil her clit with similar touches. It’s with this that he continues his work above, refraining from kissing only when it be comes necessary to speak. ]
Stupid, eh?
Now when the hell has that ever stopped me before?