Considering how long you've been around, is there really a difference?
[ The cyclical repetitiveness of it all, what C.C. has experienced that Jason can only imagine, is staggering. To have died and been brought back to life, no matter how dismal the circumstances, seems like a blessing in comparison. Like the chance for closure he exacted against Bruce, against the Joker, was still more of a chance than C.C. ever had. Where's her closure? Where's her redemption? How can she find it in a path without end, in a path so far removed from where she began that she's clueless as to where she's headed?
It's maddening. It's pitiful. It's... sad.
And fathoming this, reckoning with it. Maybe it's all symptomatic of how close he's finally gotten to her.
Too close.
But Jason's never been one to hesitate. Never been one to turn back from making a choice, no matter how much the hurt and lonely child inside him might fret about it. Might fear the potential consequences. Amidst his little jests, his experimental attempts at intimacy, her own attempts to guide him where he wants his hands - his fingers - to go, there's a look of displeasure about him. Dissatisfaction. A furrowed brow as he gazes down at her from behind.
Like he knows that a wrong he can't even articulate must be made right.
His fingers don't stop. More than before, their tips canvas C.C.'s folds, palpating the circumference of her clit, pressure sometimes focalizing on her center. There's something tantalizing about it, like the promise of more waits to be fulfilled... but his arms, as they encircle her, tighten. And for a moment, he relinquishes his hands from between her legs, instead wrapping his arms around her stomach. Pressing her back, for that matter, closer to his chest.
He holds her tight. Lips linger, now, beside her cheek. But rather than kiss her, show some other kind of affection that could also evince arousal, he nuzzles the side of her head. Holds her close, as if meaning to keep her secure. To protect her the way no one else has. To cherish her, almost, when in eons past she might have been deemed cargo. Detritus. ]
I'm plenty fueled, lady.
But you're not just useful to me, alright? Believe it or not, you're not something I'll just throw away one day.
I don't know why I want you to hear this. You just seem like someone who hasn't... heard it enough.
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[ The cyclical repetitiveness of it all, what C.C. has experienced that Jason can only imagine, is staggering. To have died and been brought back to life, no matter how dismal the circumstances, seems like a blessing in comparison. Like the chance for closure he exacted against Bruce, against the Joker, was still more of a chance than C.C. ever had. Where's her closure? Where's her redemption? How can she find it in a path without end, in a path so far removed from where she began that she's clueless as to where she's headed?
It's maddening. It's pitiful. It's... sad.
And fathoming this, reckoning with it. Maybe it's all symptomatic of how close he's finally gotten to her.
Too close.
But Jason's never been one to hesitate. Never been one to turn back from making a choice, no matter how much the hurt and lonely child inside him might fret about it. Might fear the potential consequences. Amidst his little jests, his experimental attempts at intimacy, her own attempts to guide him where he wants his hands - his fingers - to go, there's a look of displeasure about him. Dissatisfaction. A furrowed brow as he gazes down at her from behind.
Like he knows that a wrong he can't even articulate must be made right.
His fingers don't stop. More than before, their tips canvas C.C.'s folds, palpating the circumference of her clit, pressure sometimes focalizing on her center. There's something tantalizing about it, like the promise of more waits to be fulfilled... but his arms, as they encircle her, tighten. And for a moment, he relinquishes his hands from between her legs, instead wrapping his arms around her stomach. Pressing her back, for that matter, closer to his chest.
He holds her tight. Lips linger, now, beside her cheek. But rather than kiss her, show some other kind of affection that could also evince arousal, he nuzzles the side of her head. Holds her close, as if meaning to keep her secure. To protect her the way no one else has. To cherish her, almost, when in eons past she might have been deemed cargo. Detritus. ]
I'm plenty fueled, lady.
But you're not just useful to me, alright? Believe it or not, you're not something I'll just throw away one day.
I don't know why I want you to hear this. You just seem like someone who hasn't... heard it enough.
[ He's been there. Maybe not to the same extent.
But he'd know. ]